So..last month we went to Russia to see our family and,in the same time looking for new merchandises for our store" Click here "and new collaborations.It was a nice trip,interesting and with some good results :).Our first stop was in Moscow .On Arbat street you can find and Dunkin Donuts & Wendy's, Starbucks and other. In one word: a little USA in Moscow :).

Our next and the last stop was in Saint Petersbrug.This winter we was a little disappointed because we did not find any snow but happy to see our families.

We had a great time there,spending our days in museums like "Hermitage","Ecaterina's Palace","Church of the Savior on Blood",watching Russian Ballet at Mariinsky Theatre and more other interesting things.

Hermitage Museum

Ekaterina's Palace

Ecaterina's Dress (made from paper)

Church of the Savior on Blood

Our Moms

And "the cherry on top of the cake" was our visit in a Matryoshka WorkShop.

Our visit was unforgotten.We had a really pleasure to be in that place wich is wonderful,unique,where you can find talented and nice people.Thanks,Olga Smirnova for your hospitality!

And also,Russian Dolls Boutique is the first store in USA that sells their unique,collectible matryoshka dolls.

Of Russian origin: Troika

As fast as a bird

Troika is the traditional Russian carriage drawn by a team of three horses harnessed abreast. It has become a symbol of Russia and is widely employed in folkloric scenes, movies (such as Doctor Zhivago), paintings and literature.It first appeared in the 18th century and was mainly used for postal services, for transporting passengers (mainly for long distances) and later in festivities such as weddings. The Russian troika is known for its high speed (up to 50 kilometers an hour) and was often compared to a flying bird.The high speed was possible due to the special training and arrangement of the horses at the carriage. The horse in the middle, called the shaft horse, trots and acts like a locomotive, while the tracers - the horses on its sides – maintain a brisk gallop. This method of arranging the horses became popular not only for speed, but also for endurance, good cargo capacity, maneuverability and safety; a three-horse carriage was much more stable than the two-horse carriage widely used in Europe.

Special breed of drivers and horses

Driving a troika required special skills. Those wishing to become troika drivers had to be trained from a young age and be physically fit; the arms of the driver sometimes had to endure up to 50 kilograms of weight while trying to maneuver the horses. The special arrangement of horses also allowed the driver to control the load on each horse.

At a certain point the driver could lash one side horse so that it would run faster and let the other rest. The profession of troika coachman was hereditary and prestigious among peasants. Coachmen were also exempt from capitation tax. Not only the drivers needed special training – but the horses did too. The Orlov Trotter, the most famous breed of horse developed in Russia, was considered to be the best troika horse because of its long stride, speedy trot, stamina, and at the same time, beauty and elegance.

The breed was named after its developer, Aleksey Orlov, and usually only very rich people could afford the animals. Sometimes Orlov Trotters were given as Russian state gifts to foreign officials.

Troika bells

As the troika became widespread, the creation of special signals to regulate troika traffic became necessary as they ran at very high speeds, especially postal troikas, and there were no traffic rules at that time. Sound signals were developed to let the personnel at the next postal station know when the troika was approaching, so that they could prepare fresh trotter horses.Peter the First tried to implement the European practice of using horns, however the coachmen preferred to send out a deafening whistle. However, this kind of warning was later banned and replaced by shaft-bow bells, which became an integral part of the famous Russia troika. The Valdai bells were particularly famous, producing a clear "singing" sound so that some even compared the Russian troika to a musical instrument.

A troika was usually accompanied by about 100 bells, on the bridle, on the saddle and inside the many harness brushes. The singing of the many bells, some in minor, others in major, combined with the sound of hooves running, created a unique melody, pleasing to the ears. But troikas were also a joy for the eyes with their richly decorated harnesses and bows adorned with painting and fretwork.

Troika races

With the development of railways, the troika was no longer used in postal services. It was still used during special festivities, such as weddings and also became a sport. competitions were extremely popular in Russia in the middle of the 19th century, especially during winter.

The first competitions were held at the Moscow hippodrome in the 1840s. In 1911 the Russian Troika was showcased in the World Exhibition in London. However in the 1990s the interest in troikas declined to a point that even the existence of such a carriage was under threat of disappearance. Thanks to a group of enthusiasts led by Alla Polzunova, the greatest female troika racer during the Soviet era, the sport didn't die and is now making a comeback. Troika competitions have been initiated in such cities as Yaroslavl, Kostrom, Vologda and Moscow. Competitions have also been organized in France, at the event "Russian Days in France." Since 2000, Russian troikas regularly participate in the "Russian Days in France" and the "French Days in Russia" annual cultural events.The word troika (which means “threesome” in Russian) is also used to describe a trio of three individuals, such as political or historical figures.

Once upon a time, a little fly built a tower in the forest. A flea jumped by, saw the tower and knocked on the door: "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly, and who are you?" "I am the buzzing mosquito. Come live with me!" And a little field mouse ran by and knocked on the door, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito, and who are you?" "I am the little field mouse." "Come live with us!" And a croaking frog hopped by and knocked on the door, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito." "And I, the little field mouse, and who are you?" "I am a croaking frog." "Come live with us!" And a nervous rabbit bounced by and knocked on the door, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito." "I, the little field mouse." "And I, the croaking frog, and who are you?" "I am a nervous rabbit." "Come live with us!" And a sly fox ran by and knocked on the door, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito." "I, the little field mouse." "I, the croaking frog." "And I, the nervous rabbit, and who are you?" "I am a sly fox." "Come live with us!" And a gray wolf came by and knocked on the door, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito." "I, the little field mouse." "I, the croaking frog." "I, the running rabbit." "I, the sly fox, and who are you?" "I am a gray wolf." "Come live with us!" So they lived happily in the little tower. Then a big bear came by and roared, "Who is it that lives in this nice tall tower?" "I, the little fly." "I, the buzzing mosquito." "I, the little field mouse." "I, the croaking frog." "I, the running rabbit." "I, the sly fox." "I, the gray wolf, and who are you?" "I am the big bear." "Well, come on in!" The bear tried to climb into the tower, but no matter how he tried, he just didn't fit. "I think it would be better if I lived on the roof." "You will squash us all!" "No, I won't!" The bear sat down on the roof, and smashed the little tower. All of the other animals managed to jump out of the tower, and went back to the forest to live.

Lacquer boxees are,perhaps,the most exquisite of all Russian art.They are hand painted with almost flawless technique in a tradition that goes back to Peter the Great and can only be described as masterpieces.On them are painted scenes from fairy tales,legends,history and great work of art.Often these scenes are so finely detailed that thy are painted with a brush of only a few hairs and requie a magnifying glass for their execution.The scenes are ones one would expect to find only on large canvases,yet they are rendered on box surfaces of only a few square inches.For this reason,lacquer boxes are often called miniatures.

They are four schools of Russian lacquer art that you can collect.Named after the villages north of Moscow in which they developed,they are Fedoskino,Palekh,Mstiora and Kholui.Each school has its own distinctive style and charateristics.Some people concentrate on collecting boxes of a favorite school;others want a representation of each.

Fedoskino,the oldest,traces its roots to the late 18h century when lacquer snuff boxes were made in the village for grandees.It often takes its inspiration from classical Russian paintings,folk scenes,troika races and great persons.Its colors are usually subdued,its paints are oil and its representations are realistic.Artists in the Fedoskino school often adopt the striking technique f painting on gold and silver foil,mother-of-pearl and malachite with translucent paints which allow the effect of these materials to show through.

Palekh was an ancient center for painting icons which to this day adorn the churches and great cathedrals of Russia.But when thecommunists came after the revolutin in 1917 they prohibited the painting of religious motifs.Thus becoming unemployed,Palekh artists turned to painting lacquer miniatures adopting themes from poetry,legends,fairy tales and contemporary life.Instead of oils,Palekh artists paint with egg tempera.Their colors are bright and vibrant rather than subdued.Their human figures are somewhat elongated and their paintings are bordered with gold filigree.

Mstera artists also paint with tempera.And,like Palekh artists,they also paint scenes from poetry and fairy tales and adorn their boxes with gold filigree.Their colors are lighter and less contrasting than those of Palekh.

Kholui,like Palekh,was an old center for painting icons.As in Palekh,its artists ceased to paint icons after revolution.And ike Palekh and Mstera artists,Kholui artists paint with egg tempera.Unlike them,however,they are less bound by convention and exercise more freedom of expression.

Getting prepared for Thanksgiving day with a russian salat "Herring Under Fur Coat",,because all my friends love it. :)

To prepare russian herring salad, “Herring Under Fur Coat”, you need to have whole salted herring. And of course you need to know how to fillet it, so read this post if you don’t.

Herring Under Fur Coat is a word-to-word translation of russian name of this salad: “Seledka pod Shuboj”, which represents salted herring under a “coat” of boiled vegetables. So, as you’ve probably guessed, you will also need boiled vegetables (potatoes, carrots and beats) and green onions. In the rest, this is 5-layers salad with a lot of mayonnaise.This salad requires some time and agility to assemble it, also it needs at least 12 hours for layers to soak after it is assembled. So make sure you have enough time before you plan to serve it.

4.Grate boiled potato on big slots of grater and form round layer in the middle of the plate (make sure you have about 2 inches left till the edges of the plate):

5.Dress layer of grated potato with mayonnaise (yes, you need liquid mayo which is easy to pour):

6.Cover whole thing with an even layer of boiled carrots grated on big slots, use your hands to form the shape:

7.Spread mayonnaise on the surface:

8.Cover whole thing with an even layer of boiled eggs grated on big slots

9.Spread mayonnaise on the surface:

10.Cover whole thing with an even layer of boiled beets grated on big slots:

11.And again cover it with mayonnaise

12. On desire you can cover with am layer of boiled egg yolks grates on small slot:

13.Let salad to rest at room temperature for 2 hours, after put it to the fridge. Prepare this salad in advance, it needs at least several hours of “rest” after assembled so layers can soak juices of each other and mayonnaise. I usually prepare this salad night before I am planning to serve it:

Once there lived an old man and an old woman. The old man had his own daughter and the old woman- her own. The old woman pampered her daughter, doted her and made the old man`s daughter do all the work, scold her for everything, abused her and didn`t give her enough food.

The girl consented to all work and did all she was ordered. She did everything awesome possum. People look at her and cannot praise sufficiently. And about the old woman daughter they just say:- Here she is- she cannot weave and spin. Here she is- idle and lazy!

The old woman became even angrier and more quarrelsome. She ate girls head off. And think of nothing else but just to kill her.

One day the old man went to town to the market. And an evil old woman colluded with her daughter:- Now we will do this hateful girl in!

The old woman called the girl and ordered her:

- Go to the wood and bring some brushwood!

- We have quite enough brushwood, -the girl answered.

The old woman started crying and stamping her feet, fell on the girl together with her daughter and pushed her of the hut.

The girl saw that there was nothing to be done and she went to the wood. The frost was crackling, the wind was howling, and there was a heavy snowstorm.

The old woman with her daughter were in the warm hut and said to each other:

- That hateful girl will not come back. She will freeze up the wood!

And the girl went into the forest, stayed under a thick fir tree and did not know- where to go and what to do…

Suddenly she heard the noise and crackles: it was Morozko riding through a fir grove, birch forest and skipping from tree to tree, crunching and clicking. He went down from the fir tree and said:- How do you do, fairy maiden! Why have you come to my wood in such a severe cold?

Morozko have listened her and said:

- No, fairy maiden, you were not sent here for brushwood. Well, if you come to my wood, then show me what a mistress you are!

She was given a tow and a distaff:

- Spin threads out of this tow. Weave cloth and sew me а shirt out of that cloth!

Morozko said that and left. The girl did not think much and started to work at once.

Her fingers were frozen she would breath to warm them and worked on again. And the whole night like that. She did not stop working. She thought just about one thing –how to sew the shirt.

In the morning she heard the noise and crack near the fir tree again: that` Morozko came. He looked at the shirt and praised :

- Well, Fairy maiden, you worked well!

Here brought Morozko a large forged trunk, put it in front of the girl, and said:

- Like work, like reward!

After that he put on a warm fur coat on the girl, tied a patterned kerchief round her head and led her to the road:

- Good bye, Fairy maiden! Here you will find good people to help you to get home.

He said that and disappeared as if he were not there.

At that time the old man came back home.

- Where is my daughter? – he asked.

- She went to the wood for brushwood and did not come back.

The old man was anxious, did not start unharnessing the horse and drove to the wood. And as he glanced – his daughter was standing near the road, well-dressed and merry.

The old man seated her in the sledge, put Morozko`s trunk with presents there in the sledge and took her home.

An evil old woman with her daughter were sitting at table, eating pies and said:

- Well, she will not come back home alive! The old man is going to bring just her bones!

And the dog was barking near the stove:

- Bow-wow, bow-wow! The old man`s daughter is going to bring such expensive presents! And no one will marry old woman`s daughter!

The old woman gave pies to the dog and beated her with the poker.

- Shut up, nasty! Just say: «The old woman`s will be married and old man`s daughter will be brought dead!»

But the dog repeated all the time:

- The old man`s daughter will bring presents! And old woman`s daughter will not be married!

Here the gates squeaked, the door to the hut was opened and the girl came in well-dressed and rosy, and people brought a large trunk following her, decorated with frosty patterns.

The old woman and her daughter rushed to the trunk, started to take out and examine the costumes, and put them in the benches and question:

- Who gave you such an expensive present?

As far as the old woman knew that Morozko gave that present to the girl, they began to bustle , wrap up her daughter warmly, gave her the bundle with pies and told the old man to take her to the wood:

- She is going to bring two such trunks!

The old man brought the old woman`s daughter to the wood and left her under a high fir tree. She is standing, looking around, scringing and scolding:

- Why that Morozko do not come for such a long time? Where has he, so-and-so, disappeared?

Here she heard noise and crackle: Morozko was riding through a fir grove, birch forest, and skipping from tree to tree, crunching and clicking. He went down from the fir tree and asked:

- Why have you come to me, Fairy maiden?

- Don`t you know yourself? I have come for expensive presents!

Morozko smiled and said:

-Just show me first what a mistress you are – knit me the mittens!

He gave her knitting needle and a ball of wool and left.

The old woman`s daughter threw the knitting needles into the snow, pushed the ball of wool with her leg:

- Look at what that old one came up with? Who ever heard of such thing as to knit in such a severe cold? So I can get my fingers frostbitten!

In the morning it cracked and crunches, - Morozko came:

- Well, Fairy maiden, show me how you coped my work?

The old woman`s daughter rushed at him:

- What a work, old noodle? Ae you blind, you can`t see: I am chilled to the bones waiting for you here and I am more than half dead!

- Well, like work, like award! –Morozko said.

She shook with his beard – and snowstorm and blizzard began –all paths, all roads were covered. And Morozko disappeared, as if he were not there.

The old woman`s daughter dragged herself along without knowing the road and came to a deep ravine. There she was covered with snow…

In the morning the old woman shook the old man very early, woke him up and ordered him to go to the wood to take his daughter. He she herself started to bake pies. The dog was sitting under the bench and barking:

- Bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow! The old woman`s daughter is not going to come back from the wood!

The old woman threw pies to the dog and stroke her with the poker painfully:

- Shut up, nasty! Eat the pie and never say such things! Better say: «Old woman`s daughter is going to bring expensive gifts. And the old man`s daughter will not find a fiancй!».

The dog eats a pie and repeats again:

- Bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow! The old man`s daughter will marry and the old woman`s daughter will not come back from the wood!

The old woman was startled:

«What if something`s bad is going to happen with my daughter! What if they lose the expensive gifts on the road! I will run following the old man!»

She put on the fur coat and ran to the wood. The snowstorm was howling and whirling even stronger. The whole road was covered…

The evil woman lost her way and she was covered with snow…

The old man was looking for the old woman`s daughter for some time and could not find. She came back how –there were no old woman. He gathered neighbors. They all started to look for the old woman and her daughter. They looked for and looked for. They dug over all snowdrifts and still did not find them.

And the old man started to live together with his daughter. And when spring came – a fine young man, a smith from the smithy asked her in marriage.

They celebrated a merry wedding and lived in love and harmony.And so they live now.

The Russian nesting dolls (also called matryoshka ,mamushka,babushka) is a century old traditional Russian craft. The dolls are hand painted by the skilled Russian artists to become a fantastic gift, an adorable toy or even a piece of art. Unfortunately, due to the increased popularity of the Russian dolls in recent years many cheap imitations claiming to be the Russian nesting dolls have appeared. These can be found on eBay or sometimes even in grocery stores.

What are the typical features of the counterfeit dolls that can be used to distinguish then from the authentic Russian dolls? Here are some of them:

the pattern is very simple, they also use significantly fewer brush strokes to create ornaments than the genuine Matryoshkas

the colours are usually simple and often dull

the facial features are often asymmetric and unpleasant

the top of the head is often flat and excessively squared

the most distinctive feature of the cheap stacking dolls is that they do not have bevelled skirting at the bottom of the largest figurine

some of them are signed on the bottom by the artist

Thus, it is very easy to avoid disappointment by paying attention to these several features. Of course, if your set of matryoshka dolls is shipped directly from Russia or by a reputable retail store, then you can be assured that they are authentic!

Konstantin Vasiliev was born on the 3 September 1942 in town Maykop of Krasnodar region. His father Alexey Vasiliev was born in St.Petersburg, he took part in three wars (The First World War, Civil War - he fighted in Chapaevskaya division and Second World War - partisan and communist). He was an engineer, big admirer of nature and literature. His mother Klavdia Shishkina - on maternal side she was from Saratov peasants.

On the 8 of August 1942 Maykop was occupied by fascists, father of K.Vasiliev became a partisan. But in February 1943 the town was set free, and his father returned home. In 1946 the family moved to Kazan, then to Vasilievo village, located in 30 km from Kazan in front of the place where Sviaga flows into Volga river. Virgin forests and an expanse of river waters… Kostya went hunting and fishing with his father. These seems to be unforgettable moments when soul is open to everything wonderful in the world. He began to draw very early. His mother said about him: 'He was born with pencil in his hand'. His parents did their best to help their son to develop his gift for drawing. After he had passed examinations successfully, Konstantin Vasiliev became a student of the Moscow art school - boarding school at institute named after Surikov of Academy of Applied Arts USSR. From 1954 for 1957 he had been living and studing in Moscow. These years were filled with impressions from fine art, music, theatres. There he became an artist, who deeply apprehended a bases of an aesthetics of Russian national art. But then, in the middle of 50s, at school after the change of the director the training of monotonous drawing style began. The teachers started to specify how to draw and what to draw. Social realism did not attract Vasiliev. He wanted to create not under somebody's instruction, he asserted his right to choose a theme and picturesque method. After the annual vacation Konstantin did not return to Moscow school. He had continued education in an art school of Kazan.

The Kazan art school has more than century history. Here studied and taught Nikolai Feteshin, the favourite learner of I.Repin. Talented Kostya Vasiliev was noticed at once. His teachers were P.Speranski - outstanding theatrical artist of Kazan, V.Timopheev and N.Sokolski - learners of N.Feteshin. They continued traditions of Russian realistic school of painting, which was based on figure, colour and composition. It was close to Vasiliev. Subsequently it became a basis of his picturesque method. He had graduated theatrical-decoration branch with distinction, his degree works were the sketches of scenery to a musical drama "Snegurochka" (Snowgirl) by Ostrovski on music by Tchaikovski. By this time on an operational table his father died of coronary deficiency. Konstantin was very depressed, besides him in the family there were two young sisters - Valya and Ludmila. He was the only son and senior brother, their hope and support.

After finishing school he was recommended to take place of the theatrical artist at movable theatre in Menzelinsk. But the place was engaged and Konstantion Vasiliev returned home, in Vasilievo. He became a teacher of drawing and plotting at school, then artist - designer at a factory, periodically he performed the orders of Art fund in Kazan. But his main work he did at home for himself and for his friends. All this time he made his own search of direction in painting.

At the beginning of 60s K.Vasiliev tried many directions of modernism in painting, especially in surrealism and abstract expressionism ("String", "Coliseum" "Atomic explosion", "Argonauts", tenth of abstract compositions). However at the age of 24 he stopped his searches of form. He considered that the art without subject expressing the painter only, but painter must work for people. He thought the ideal to be a goal of creative work. Everyone has its ideal it is God's gift and it could be opened for a person. K.Vasiliev turned to realistic style of painting. He draw native scenery: "Twilight", "Stump", "Chapel", "Swans". Sometimes he draws several images of interesting theme. His paints are often composed as theatrical decoration with side scenes and background. Beauty and harmony of person and world around.

In early childhood K.Vasiliev read Russian epic novels. He was interested in history of nation, and more all - northern Slavs, prehistory of Russian nation, Scandinavian legends. In his creativity he addressed to folk art: songs, epics, fairy tales, Scandinavian and Irish sagas, Poetic Edda. From this moment a heroic theme, epic novels and legends, theme of Second World War (" Marshal Zhukov", "Invasion", " Parade of forty first ", "Nostalgia of home Land ", " Farewell of Slavic woman"), scenary-portrait lyrics, profound philosophical thoughts of life became key points of Vasiliev's creavity . Such canvases as "Expectation", "Swans", "Woman-reaper". " Near the well", " Northern eagle", "Man with an eagle owl " became favorite for many people...

Painter's world view was deeply influenced by Russian literature, especially by F.Dostoevski, N.Gogol, M.Lermontov, I.Bunin. K.Vasiliev was great amateur and expert of classical music. He had a large collection of gramophone records with classical music. Graphic portraits of composers and musicians also reveals his interest to music.

During Vasiliev's life some exhibitions were held, where the works of the artist were submitted. In 1963 he participated in republican exhibition " Artists - satirists of Kazan ", which passed in Moscow, in the Central exhibition hall in Arena. From 1968 to 1976 K.Vasiliev sometimes participated in exhibitions in Zelenodolsk and Kazan. The creativity of the artist became especial popular after his death. During twenty years there were held more than half-hundreds personal exhibitions of his canvases in many cities of Russia and also in Bulgaria, Yugoslavia and Spain.

IIn 1988 Konstantin Vasiliev was posthumously awarded by Premium of Tatar Comsomol named after Musa Jalil for a cycle of canvases devoted to the Second World War.

IIn 1996 and 1997 were opened two museums and Picture gallery of Konstantin Vasiliev.

This charming collectible stucking doll is made in Russia with love.The set has depctions of Konstantin Vasiliev paintings-a russian artist,a creative legacy,which has more then 400 paintings and graphic works:portraits,landscapes,surrealistic compositions,paintings epic,mythological and battle genre."In another window","The Reaper","The man with the owl","Divination","Yaroslavna's lament","Giant","Monster rusalka","The magic swan gheese" are some of the pictures related on this beautiful stucking doll. Hand painted,hand lacquered,signed by the artist on the bottom in 2000.The largest doll measures 10"tall.Makes a great gift !

The Queen of the Copper Mountain is a famous character of the Ural folk stories. Every child in Russia knows a fairy tale written by Pavel Bazhov. It says that the Queen of the Copper Mountain is a beautiful young lady who owns all the treasures hidden in the Ural Mountains. Very few people met her because she turns into a lizard every time a man comes up. There was one lucky man though: Danila, a local miner. The Queen of the Copper Mountain fell in love with him. She showed him where her gold was, in return Danila had to stay with her deep underground. The man refused for he had a fiancée at home. The Queen was kind enough to let Danila go. She even gave him a present for his fiancée. As Danila got back home he gave the present, a malachite box full of treasures, to his future bride. However, he never married the girl, for he went insane and for the rest of his days he was dreaming of the Queen of the Copper Mountain…

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a brother and sister walked together down a long road. The sister's name was Alyonushka, and her brother was called Ivanushka. The two had been walking a long time when they came to a cow's hoof filled with water. "May I drink form it sister?" little Ivanushka asked. "No, or you will turn into a calf," Alyonushka answered. Little Ivanushka was very thirsty, but obeyed his sister. He obeyed her again when they came to a horse's hoof filled with water. Alyonushka told him that if he drank from it, he would turn into a foal. The brother and sister walked along further, and Ivanushka became increasingly thirsty. Then they came upon a goat's hoof filled with water. "May I drink from it?" Ivanushka asked. Alyonushka once again was firm. "No, if you do you will turn into a kid." But this time the boy disobeyed his sister, and upon his first sip turned into a little goat. Alyonushka sat on the rode crying when a merchant drove by and inquired about her trouble. Alyonushka explained the situation to him, and he said that if she married him they could live happily with the goat. Alyonushka agreed, and so they lived happily this way for some time. Then one day an evil witch tricked Alyonushka into going down to the river, where she tied a stone around her neck and threw her in. The witch then took on Alyonushka's form and lived as her for awhile. Only poor Ivanushka knew the truth about his sister. Little did he know that the witch had plans for him, too. When witch overheard him one day talking to his sister in the lake, she decided to ask the merchant to kill the little goat. It was hard for the merchant to agree to kill Ivanushka, as he loved the goat like a person. But, being deceived by the witch, he felt his wife's wishes to be the most important. Ivanushka asked the merchant if he could go to the river for one last drink before he died, and the merchant agreed. There at the river's edge the goat cried out to his sister, and she answered him that she couldn't help him with a stone tied around her neck. Neither the brother nor sister realized that this time a peasant had overheard their conversation, and was on his way to stop the merchant from killing Ivanushka. Upon hearing the peasant's story, the merchant ran to the river, found Alyonushka, and took the stone from around her neck. The witch was then tied to a horse, which was turned loose in an open field. The little goat was so happy that he turned three somersaults, and was changed back into a boy. They lived happily ever after.

Looking for a great, kid-friendly Christmas project? Here's one you are sure to love! This Unpainted Nesting Doll kit provides DIY fun for the Christmas holidays. Anyone in your family can put their artistic talents to work with this 5-piece doll and friends. Use acryl and a paintbrush to create your own unique Matryoshka.

Choose your Christmas Ornament

From realistic depictions of dogs,cats,horses, to cartoonist representation of bears,frogs ,and more; Russian Dolls Boutique features a vast selection of animal matryoshka nesting dolls imported directly to us from Russia.

Political themes have a long tradtion,beginning with rendition of Napoleon and Kutuzov that were created in 1912 by I.G.Prokhorov to commemorate the one hundredth-year aniversary of Russia's defeat of Napoleon.(Kutuzov was a Russian field marshla who was a key figure in the Russian victory.) Political matryoshki have continued to evolve with the changing leadership.Not long after Boris Yeltsin succeeded Mikhail Gorbachev,the Yeltsin doll appeared.There was even a brief period when one could find Gorbachev dolls with Yeltsin on the inside,signifying Yeltsin's position before the outside doll.(Under Gorbachev,Yeltsin was briefly removed from the inner circle.)And even before Vladimir Putin became president,the Putin doll appeared. These dolls most commonly have seven pieces-Putin,Yeltsin,Gorbachev,Brezhnev,Khrushchev,Stalin,and Lenin. Five-pieces Putin dolls are also common,even though they leave out two important leaders of the Soviet Union.

Ten-piece "Soviet leaders" matryoshki are also relatively common.They do not generally depict lesser known leaders like Konstantin Chernenko or Yuri Andropov,but rather include Nicholas II,Catherine the Great,and Peter the Great.Some have three small pieces the presumably represent tsars but are really unidetifiable.On the other hand,there are some beautiful matryoshki picturing the tsars of Romanov dynasty.

http://www.russiandolls-boutique.com/nesting-dolls/nikolai-ii-family-nesting-doll/ The most popular Soviet leader dolls are done in caricature,showing Putin with his penetrating blue eyes,Yeltsin with his bulbouse nose,Gorbachev with his birthmark,Krushchev with an ear of corn,Stalin with his pipe,and Lenin with a red star.(After a trip to Iowa,Krushchev tried to introduce corn into the Moscow region,forgetting that Iowa's climate is much warmer than Moscow's.This and similar projects contributed to Krushchev's removal as the leader of Soviet Union.)

The artists of Ryazan have come up with a process that allows them to produce very realistic portraits.The artists deny hat the portraits are decals,but each painting is so similar that is hard to belive that they are done freehand. The success of the Soviet leader matryoshki has led to other ideas.First doll appeared picturing recent American presidents.

http://www.russiandolls-boutique.com/nesting-dolls/barack-obama-stucking-doll/ Another doll shows Russian presidents one one side and American presidents on the other.In 1999,Bill Clinton dolls became the most popular poitical matryoshki.These show Cinton on the outside,with a cast of related characters on the inside,including Monica Lewinsky,Paula Jones,Gennifer Flowers,and usually Hillary Clinton. Other versions include a saxophone or a cigar.

Santa dolls are new and widespread development in matryoshka production.In Russian,Santa is called Ded moroz,"Grandfather Frost".

http://www.russiandolls-boutique.com/christmas/carved-santa-nesting-doll/ Grandfather Frost's helper is Snegurochka,the Snow Maiden.Therefore,many of the Santa dolls have Snow Maiden inside.There are two Snow Maidens in Russian lore,wich can create some confusion.One is Santa's helper;the other is the subject of a fairy tale.In the fairy tale,a childless couple adopts the Snow Maiden,a statue of snow they find in he woods in winter.She becomes a real person and falls in love with a young man of the village named Lel.In the spring she goes outside to see her beloved and melts away.

The production of Santa matryoshki has expanded rapidly,largely because of their popularity in the United States.They range in size from tiny micromats to a least 15-pices dolls that are about a foot high.Some are exceedingly simple,some quite complex.

Sergei Koblv was born and grew up near Oekhovo-Zuyevo,a half hour's drive east of Moscow.He graduated from the prestigious Bauman Higher Technical School in Moscow as an electrical engineer.Unable to find work after graduationSergei remembered how his father had taught him to carve,so he returned home to try to make a living using his childhood hobby.He bagan to carve and paint a series of designs. Sergei's matryoshki are some of the most original in Russia.There are few other artists who carve matryoshki,but most of them carve only superfcially,adding lines to beards or facces.Sergei carves the actual figures into the wood,thereby creating a completely differet effect.

Sergei specializes in traditional folk tales.Among his best dolls is "The Turnip",which pictures each of the characters of the story pulling on the shirttail of the next one.The piece de resistance is the innermost piece,which is a little carved turnip.Sergei has also developed dolls for a series of tales,inclding "The Kolobok,The Teremok,Masha and the Bear,and The Spotted Hen".In addition,Sergei does several different religious dolls: a series of saints,Noah's ark,Life of Christ,and Nativity.

Like many folk artists,Sergei is proud of his techniques.He makes his own carving tools and his own paints,which are completely nontoxic and harmless to the environment.Sergei uses ancient recipes to make his paint and will not divulge the ingredients or the methods that he uses to prepare them. Sergei has organized a studio at the House of Culture in Davydovo;the studio is importnat for him asa way to ontribute to the community.The participants are mostly students and house-wives,ranging in age from eighteen to fifty.Sergei gives them lessons,provides them a place to work,and,perhaps most importnat,sell their work in Moscow.He does not charge the pupils for the lessons,but does make a small profit on sales.

Ruslan and Ludmila

Alexander Pushkin

DEDICATION

For you, queens of my soul, my treasured Young beauties, for your sake did I Devote my golden hours of leisure To writing down, I'll not deny, With faithful hand of long past ages The whispered fables.... Take them, pray, Accept these playful lines, these pages For which I ask no praise.... But stay! For my reward-I need not seek it- Is hope: Oh, that some girl should scan, As only one who's lovesick can, These naughty songs of mine in secret!

PROLOGUE

On seashore far a green oak towers, And to it with a gold chain bound, A .learned cat whiles away the hours By walking slowly round and round. To right he walks, and sings a ditty; To left he walks, and tells a tale....

What marvels there! A mermaid sitting High in a tree, a sprite, a trail Where unknown beasts move never seen by Man's eyes, a hut on chicken feet, Without a door, without a window, An evil witch's lone retreat; The woods and valleys there are teeming With strange things.... Dawn brings waves that, gleaming,

Over the sandy beaches creep, And from the clear and shining water Step thirty goodly knights escorted By their Old Guardian, of the deep An ancient dweller.... There a dreaded And hated tsar is captive ta'en; There, as all watch, for cloud banks headed, Across the sea and o'er a plain, A warlock bears a knight. There, weeping, A princess sits locked in a cell, And Grey Wolf serves her very well; There, in a mortar, onward sweeping All of itself, beneath the skies The wicked Baba-Yaga flies; There pines Koshchei and lusts for gold....

All breathes of Russ, the Russ of old There once was I, friends, and the As near him 'neath the oak I sat And drank of sweet mead at my leisure, Recounted tales to me.... With pleasure One that I liked do I recall And here and now will share with all...

CANTO THE FIRST

The ways and deeds of days gone by, A narrative on legend founded....

In princely banquet chamber high, By doughty sons and guests surrounded, Vladimir-Bright Sun holds a fete; His daughter is the chosen mate Of Prince Ruslan, and these two linking In marriage, old Vladimir's drinking Their health, a handsome cup and great To his lips held and fond thoughts thinking. Our fathers ate 'thout haste-indeed, Passed slowly round the groaning tables The silver beakers were and ladles With frothing ale filled and with mead.

Into the heart cheer poured they, truly.... The bearers, bowing, solemn-faced, Before the feasters tankards placed; High rose the foam and hissed, unruly....

The hum of talk is loud, unceasing; Abuzz the guests: a merry round. Then through the hubbub, all ears pleasing, There comes the gusli's rippling sound. A hush. In dulcet song and ringing Bayan, the bard-all hark him well- Of bride and groom the praise is singing; He lauds their union, gift of Lel.*

--------------------------------------------------------------- Ruslan, o'ercome by fiery feeling, Of food partakes not; from Ludmila He cannot tear away his eyes; He flames with love, he frowns, he sighs, At his moustache plucks, filled with torme And, all impatience, counts each moment. Amid the noisy feasters brood Three youthful knights. In doleful mood They sit there, their great tankards empty With downcast eyes, the fare, though tempting, Untouched; the goblets past them sail; They do not seem to hear the tale Of wisdom chanted by Bayan.... The luckless rivals of Ruslan, Of love and hate a deadly brew In their hearts hid, the three are too O'erwrought for speech. The first of these Is bold Rogdai of battle fame ('Twas he who Kiev's boundaries Stretched with his blade); the next, the vain, Loud-voiced Farlaf, by none defeated At festal board, but tame, most tame Mid flashing swords and tempers heated; The last, the Khazar Khan Ratmir, A reckless spirit, aye, and ardent. All three are pale-browed, glum, despondent: The feast's no feast, the cheer's no cheer.

It's over, and the teasiers rise And flock together. Noise. All eyes Are smiling, all are on the two Younff newlv-weds.... Ludmila. tearful, Looks shyly down: her groom is cheerful, He beams.... Now do the shades anew Embrace the earth, e'er nearer creeping, The murk of midnight veils the dome.... The bovars. by sweet mead made sleepy, Bow to their hosts and make for home. Ruslan's all rapture, all elation.... AVhat bliss! In his imagination His bride caresses he. But there Is sadness in the warmth of feeling With which, their happy union sealing, The old prince blesses our young pair.

The bridal couch has long been ready; The maid is led to it.... It's night. The torches dim, but Lei already His own bright lamp has set alight. Love offers- see its gifts most tender, Its fondest wish at last comes true, On carpets of Byzantine splendour The jealous covers fall.... Do you The sound of kisses, love's sweet token. And its soft, whispered words not hear? Does not-come, say-the murmur broken Of shy reluctance reach your ear? Anticipation fires the spirit, O'erjoyed the groom... But lo!-the air Is rent by thunder, ever nearer It comes. A flash' The lamp goes out, The room sw^ays, darkness all about, Smoke pours.... Fear grips Ruslan, defeating His native pluck: his heart stops beating... All's silence, grim and threatening. An eerie voice sounds twice. There rises Up through the haze a menacing Black figure.... Coiling smoke disguises Its shape.... It vanishes.... Now our Poor groom, on his brow drops of sweat, Starts up. by sudden dread beset,

And for his bride-O fateful hour!- With trembling hand gropes anxiously.. On emptiness he seizes, she Has by some strange and evil power Been borne away.... He's overcome....

Ah, if to be love's martyr some Unfortunate young swain is fated, His days may well be filled with gloom, But life can still be tolerated. But if in your arms, after years Of longing, of desire, of tears, Your bride of but one minute lies And then becomes another's prize, 'Tis much too much... Quite frankly, I, Were such my case, would choose to die!

But poor Ruslan's alive and tortured In mind and heart.... O'erwhelmed by news, Just then arrived, of the misfortune, The Prince, enraged, turns on the youth. The whole court summoning, "Ludmila.... Where is Ludmila?" thunders he. Ruslan does not respond. "My children! Your merits past high hold I.... Free, I beg, my daughter from the clutches Of evil. I am helpless; such is Old age's piteous frailty. But though I am too old to do it, Not so are you. Go forth and save My poor Ludmila, you'll not rue it: He who succeeds, shall-writhe, you knave! Wby did you not, wretch, base tormentor, Know how to guard your young wife better? Shall have Ludmila for a bride And half my fathers' realm beside!... Who'll heed my plea?" "I!" says the grieving, Unhappy groom. "I!" shouts Rogdai, And echoed by Farlaf his cry And by Ratmir is. "We are leaving Straightway, and pray believe us, sire, We'll ride around the world entire If need be. From your daughter parted Not long will you be, never fear." The old prince cannot speak for tears; His gratitude is mute; sadhearted, A broken man, at door he stands And to them stretches out his hands.

All four the palace leave together; Ruslan is ashen-faced, half-dead. Thoughts of his kidnapped bride, of whether He'll ever find the maid, with dread And pain his heart fill. Now the foursome Get on their restless, chafing horses, And leaving dust clouds in their wake, Away along the Dnieper make.... They're lost to sight, but Prince Vladimir Stands gazing at the road and tries To span the distance ever-dimming As after them in thought he flies.

Ruslan, his mind and memory hazy, Is mute, lost in a kind of trance; Behind him, o'er his shoulder gazing, The picture of young arrogance, Farlaf rides, hand on hip, defiant. Says he: "At last! The taste is sweet Of freedom, friends.... When will we meet- The prospect likes me w^ell-a giant? Then will blood pour as passions seethe And victims offer to the sabre. Rejoice, my blade! Rejoice, my steed, And lightly, freely prance and caper!"

The Khazar Khan, his pulses racing, In saddle dances, for in thought He is the fair young maid embracing Whose love he has for so long sought. The light of hope is in his eye, Now7 does he make his stallion fly, Now7 forces him, the good steed teasing, To rear, now gallops him uphill, Now lets him prance about at will.

Rogdai is silent; with increasing Unease his heart fills; dark thoughts chill And burden him; he is tormented By jealousy, and, all calm gone, With hate-glazed eye, like one demented, Stares sullenlv at Prince Ruslan.

Along a single road the rivals Rode on all through the day until From east poured shades that night's arrival Bespoke.... The Dnieper, cold and still, Is wrapt in folds of mist.... The horses Have need of rest.... Not far away A track lies that another crosses. " Tis time to part," the riders say. "Let us chance fate." So 'tis decided; Each horse is given now its head, And, by the touch of spur unguided, Starts off and moves where 'twill ahead.

What do you in the hush of desert Alone, Ruslan? Sad is your plight. Was't all a dream�the bride you treasured, The terrors of your wedding night? Your helmet pushed down to your brow Your strong hands limp, the reins let loose, O'er woods and fields astride your steed You ride, while faith and hope recede And leave you well-nigh dead of spirit..

A cave shows Tore the knight; he nears And sees a light there. His feet lead Him straight inside. The dark and broo Vaults seem as old as nature. Moody, Distraught Ruslan is.... In the cave A bearded ancient, his mien grave And quiet, sits. A lamp is burning Near him, a book lies on his knee; Engrossed in it, its pages he With careful hand is slowly turning. "I bid you welcome, knight! At last!" Says he in greeting, smiling warmly. "'Here have I twenty long years passed Of my old age, and grim and lonely They've been.... But now has come the day For which, foreseeing it, I waited. To meet, we two, my son, were fated, Now sit and hear me out, I pray.... Ludmila from you has been taken; You flag, you droop, by hope forsaken And faith itself.... 'Tis wrong! For brief With evil and its partner, grief, Will be, I promise, your encounter. Take heart; with strong, sound spirit counter The blows of fortune, banish woe, And, sword aloft held, northward go!

''He who has wronged you, O my daring Young stalwart, is old Chernomor. A wizard, he is known to carry Young maids off to the hills. 'Tis for Long years he's reigned there. None has ever His castle seen, but through its door You'll pass, I know, and end forever The villain's rule; by your hand he Will perish-so 'tis meant to be!... I may not yield to indiscretion And say aught more; your destiny Yourself from this day on you fashion.''

Our knight falls at the elder's feet And in delight his hand he kisses. The world a bright place seems, and sweeet Life is again; forgot distress is.... But then the sudden joyful glow His face leaves, and it pales and darkens. "Do not despair but to me harken," The old man says. "I know what so Disquiets you: you are in fear of The warlock's love, eh, knight?... Be calm The truth is, O my youthful hero, That he can do the maid no harm. From sky the stars he'll pluck, I'll wager, Or shift the moon that sails on high, But change the law of time and aging He cannot, hard as he may try. Though he lets none her chamber enter And jealous watch keeps at her door, He is the impotent tormentor Of his fair captive, nothing more. While never far from her, he curses His lot, and soundly�but, my knight, 'Tis time for you to rest: the earth is Enclosed in shadow; it is night."

On soft moss lies Ruslan, a flame Before him flickering. He yearns For soothing sleep, he twists and turns And flings about-but no, 'tis plain That sleep won't come. He heaves a sigh And says: "Nay, Father, sick am I Of soul and cannot sleep for dreary And troubled thought. Talk to me, do; With godly speech, I beg of you, Relieve my heart: it aches, it's weary... I make too bold to ask you this; You, who befriend me, I importune- Speak! Tell me, confidant of fortune: Wby came you to this wilderness?"

And with a wistful smile replying To him, the old man says: "Alas, I have forgot my land!" Then, sighing: "A Finn am I by birth. It was My lot to tend the flocks of neighbours, And I would take them off to graze In vales on which no stranger's gaze E'er rested. Carefree midst my labours Did I remain, and only knew, Besides the woods and streams, what few Joys poverty could offer .to me.... Alas! Ahead dark days were looming.

"Near where I lived, a lovely flower, One named Nahina, bloomed; of our Young maids none lovelier than she Was there. One morn, a bagpipe blowing, My flocks I grazed where grass was growing In lush profusion. I could see A brook wind 'fore me; by it, weaving A garland, sat a dear young lass.... Her beauty�ah, 'twas past believing!- Drew and enchanted me, and as I gazed at her I knew I'd seen her Before.... Yes, knight, it was Nahina, 'Twas fate had brought me there. The flame Of love was my reward for eyeing The maid thus brazenly; I came To know a passion self-denying: All of its bliss, all of its pain.

"Six months sped by.... I thought to win her And opened up my heart. I said: � love thee dearly, sweet Nahina!' But my shy sadness only bred Scorn in her who was vain and prideful; She was indifferent to my lot, And said, of all my pain unmindful: 'Well, shepherd mine, I love thee not!'

"I was estranged from all, and gloomy Life seemed. The shady native wood, The games of shepherds-nothing could My hurt soothe and bring comfort to me I languished.... But the far seas drew me; To leave my homeland sought I then And with a band of fighting men To brave the ocean's winds capricious.... I hoped to win renown and fame And for my own Nahina claim. This planned, according to my wishes, I called upon some boatmen who Joined with me in a quest for danger And gold. My land, to war a stranger, The clash of steel now heard, and knew The sound of boat with boat colliding.... On, on we sailed, the billows riding, My men and I, by sweet hope led, Both snow and water painting red For ten long years with gore of foes. As rumour of our prow^ess spread, The foreign rulers came to dread Our forays, and their champions chose To flee our blades. Yes, fierce and hearted Our battles were, and merry, too, And with the men we had defeated Together feasted we. But through The din of war and merrymaking I heard Nahina's voice, and for The sight of her in secret aching, Before me saw my native shore. 'Come, men!' I cried. 'Did we not roam The world enough? Time to go home! 'Neath native eaves we'll hang our mail; Is't not, in faith, for this we hanker!' And leaving in our wake a trail Of fear, for Finland we set sail And in her waters soon dropped anchor.

'Fulfilled were all my dreamings past That set my lone heart faster beating. O longed-for moment of our meeting, O blessed hour, you came at last! There, at the feet of my proud beauty I laid my sword and, too, the booty Of war: pearls, corals, gold. 'Fore her, By jealous womenfolk surrounded, Her one-time playmates, my unbounded Love making me her prisoner, Mute stood I, but Nahina coolly Turned from me, saying with no sign That she would e'er relent: 'Nay, truly, I do not love thee, hero mine!'

"I do not like to speak of things y. It is pure agony to think of. E'en now, my son, when at the brink of I am of death, remembrance brings Fresh sorrow to my long-numb spirit And gravely wounds my being whole, And torn by pain, seared by it, wearied, I feel the tears down my cheeks roll.

"But hark! In parts I call my home, Amid the northern fishers lone, The art of magic lives. The shaded, Thick-growing forests wrapt in deep, Eternal silence lie and keep The secrets of the wizards aged Who dwell there and whose minds to quest For wisdom of the loftiest And weirdest kind are given. Awesome Their powers are: what was and also What will be they have knowledge of, Life can they snuff and foster love.

"And I, love's mad and avid seeker, In my despair that ne'er grew weaker, By means of magic thought to start In proud Nahina's icy heart Of love for me at least a flicker. Toward the murk of woodland free My steps in hot impatience turning, The subtle craft of wizardry I spent unnumbered years in learning. Then were the fearsome secrets, sought By me with such despair, such yearning, Revealed to my enlightened thought; Of charms and spells I knew the power: Love's aim achieved�� happy hour! 'Nahina, thou art mine!' I cried. 'Now shall I have thee for my bride.' But once again by fate defeated Was I and of my triumph cheated.

"Enraptured, with young dreams aglow, Filled with love's fervour and elation, I loudly chant an incantation And on dark spirits call, and lo!- A flash of light, a crash of thunder, And magic whirlwinds start awake, I feel the earth begin to quake, I hear it hum and rumble under My feet, and there in front of me, The picture of senility, A crone stands. She is bent and shrunken, Her hair is white, her eye is sunken And glazed with age, her head is shaking... And yet, and yet�had I mistaken Her for another?-Nay, O knight; Nahina 'twas!... In doubt, in fright The horrid vision now I measured With unbelieving gaze, my sight Mistrusting.... 'Thou! Art thou my treasured Nahina? Speak!' from me the cry Burst forth. 'Where is thy beauty? Wby Have the gods changed thee so? Have I Long, then, from life and love been parted?' 'For forty years!' I heard her say. 'Indeed, I'm seventy to-day!... But never mind! So are lives charted And so they pass. Thy spring has flown And mine has too. We are, I own, Old, both, but be thou not disheartened By fickle youth's swift passage. True, I'm grey, a trifle crooked too, Less lively and perhaps less charming Than once I was....' This in disarming Tones she declared, her voice a squeak. 'Come, do not look, I beg, so tragic.... I am-in confidence I speak- Like thee become well versed in magic.'

"A sorceress! What had she said!... Struck dumb was I by the admission And felt a fool, a dunderhead For all my store of erudition.

"But worse by far was that the spell That I had cast worked far too well. My shrivelled idol flared with passion; She loved me�loved me to obsession! Her grey lips twisted in a smile, In graveyard tones the old hag muttered The wildest of avowals, while I suffered silently, in utter Disgust and loathing, and upon The ground my eyes kept. She wheezed on, And though, by fits of coughing shaken, So was she with her subject taken, She never stopped. 'My poor heart is For tender passion born and bliss,' She croaked. ' 'Tis love alone I covet And hunger for. I flame, I bum.... O come to me, for thee I yearn; I'm dying, dying, my beloved!'

" 'Twas lustfully that she, Ruslan, Was ogling me. Her bony fingers Caught greedily at my caftan.... There to remain, knight, there to linger Beside her was sheer agony; I squeezed my eyes shut, for, you see, I could not bear it any longer, And broke away.... 'Knave! Thus to wrong me!' She yelped. 'A pure maid's life-quite shattered! Such villainy! For shame! For shame! As if my love so little mattered! Alas! I am myself to blame; You men, I vow, are all the same. By thy seduction helpless rendered, To passion wholly I surrendered.... Deceiver! Blackguard! Thou shalt know Wbat vengeance is, just wait!...'

" 'Twas so We parted. In these forests buried E'er since, a hermit's solitary Life have I led, and of the balm Of nature tasted, by its calm And wisdom doctored. I'll not tarry Long here on earth.... To you alone Do I impart this; know: the crone Has not forgot her unrequited, Scorned passion. In her soul, her blighted And ugly soul, love's changed to spite; And that she'll come to hate you, knight As she does me, you can be sure. But be not, I entreat you, frighted: Griefs bound to pass, 'twill not endure.

The old man's story hungrily Our knight took in. Enchanted by it, He sat there rapt and clear of eye, Untouched by sleep. The night was qui( He never heard it winging by. Now dawn's bright glow the heavens graces... With rueful smile Ruslan embraces The mage, and, full of gratitude, The cave leaves in a hopeful mood. He leaps into the saddle deftly, Grips with his legs the whinnying steed, And with a whistle moves off swiftly. "Be with me, Father, in my need!" He cries. "Farewell!" Across the clearing The answer carries, his heart cheering: "Forgive your bride and love her, heed My counsel, knight! Farewell! Godspeed

CANTO THE SECOND

You whose swords clash in contest gory, Persist in your dread rivalry; Pay tribute full to sombre glory And relish hate and enmity! Let the world, gaping at your deadly Encounters, freeze-know: none will try To interfere; more-none will, sadly, Of pity for you breathe a sigh. You who compete in different fashion, Of the remote Parnassian heights The mettlesome and valiant knights, Fence if you must, but with discretion, From vulgar bickering refrain: The herd 'twill only entertain. And as for you, by tender passion Made bitter rivals, pray remain On cordial terms-for he who's fated To win a maid's love this will do Though all mankind should lay plans to Keep the two lovers separated.... Why fume?-It's silly and a sin. When bold Rogdai, his heart with dim But chilling boding filled, had parted From his companions three and started Across a lonely tract of land, As he rode swiftly o'er the woody And silent plain, on his ills brooding, The hapless youth could ill withstand, So troubled were his thoughts, so painful, The Evil Spirit's taunting baneful, And whispered: "Smite I shall and kill! Bewar Ruslan, Ludmila will Weep over you, I swear!..." And turning His steed about, down dale, up hill He galloped, for sweet vengeance yearning

Meanwhile, Farlaf, that fearless soul, Had spent in sleep the morning whole, And then, from noon's hot rays well sheltered, Beside a brook himself he settled To dine and thus to fortify His moral fiber. By and by He saw a horseman in the mead Toward him charging. Disconcerted, The knight with quite uncommon speed His food and all his gear deserted, His mail, his helmet, and his spear, And 'thout a backward glance went flying Off on his horse. "Stop, wretch, you hear! The other cried, to halt him trying. "Just let me catch you, and you're dead- I'll make you shorter by a head!" Farlaf, who found the voice belonged To bold Rogdai, his rival, longed The more�quite wisely-to be gone And his horse lashed and goaded on. So will a rabbit, danger scenting, Stop short, and, to escape attempting, Ears folded, by great leaps and bounds O'er lea, wood, mound, run from the hounds. Where passed the chase in all its glory Spring had the snows of winter hoary Into great, muddy torrents thawed, And these at earth's breast ceaseless gnawed.

Farlaf's horse, now a wide ditch facing, His tail shook mightily, and, bracing Himself, in his teeth took the bit And leapt across, nor was a whit The worse for it. Not so his timid And far less nimble rider who Rolled down, head over heels, on to The mud, and lay there, floundering in i And waiting to be slain.... Rogdai Storms up, a wrathful vision. "Die, Poltroon!" he roars, and his swwd raises, But then is brought up short; his gaze is Fixed on his foe. Farlaf! Dismay, Surprise, vexation, rage display Themselves on his face. His teeth grinding He swears aloud. We see him riding Away in haste, inclined to laugh Both at himself and at Farlaf.

Soon on a pathway upward winding He met a hag with snowy hair, A feeble, bent old thing. "Go there!" She quavered, "That's where you will find him!" And with her staff she pointed north. Rogdai felt cheered; nay, more-elated. Quite unaware that death awaited Him up ahead, he started forth.

And our Farlaf? Upon his bed Of mud we see him breathless lie. "Where has my rival gone? Am I Alive," he asks himself, "or dead?" Then suddenly from overhead A voice comes-it is hoarse, deep-soundins "Rise, stalwart mine, all's calm around you,", The crone says. "Here's your charger; you Need fear, good youth, no dangers new."

At this the knight crawled slowly out And looked around him in some doubt. Relieved, he uttered sighing deeply: "I do believe I got off cheaply.... The Lord be thanked! No broken bones!'

"Ludmila's far away," the crone's Next words were, "and though we be tempted To try and find her, to attempt it Is most unwise.... No, no," she drones, "We'll not succeed: too many hurdles, And, all in all, to roam the world is A rather risky enterprise; You'd soon regret it. I advise You to go straightway home to Kiev; On your estate your days you'll spend In ease, behind you danger leaving - Ludmila won't escape us, friend!"

With this she vanished, and our knight, The flame of love well-nigh extinguished And dreams of martial fame relinquished, Set off for home. 'Twas not yet night, But any noise however slight, A rustling leaf, a bird in flight, A brook's song put him in a sweat.

But let us now Farlaf forget Across a wood we see him ride.... In thought he lovingly embraces His only love, his fair young bride. "My wife," he cries, "my own Ludmila, Will e'er I find you, dear one, will I Your gaze full of enchantment meet And hear your tender voice and sweet? Say, is it in a wizard's power You are, and is the early bloom Of youth to fade? Are you to sour And wither in a dungeon's gloom?... Or will one of my rivals seize you And bear you off?-Nay, love, rest easy: My head is on my shoulders still, And this my sword I wield with skill."

One day at dusk Ruslan was riding Along a steep and rocky shore, The stream below in shadow hiding, When with a whine an arrow o'er His head flew, and behind him sounded The clang of mail, the heavy pounding Of hooves, a horse's piercing neigh. "Halt!" someone shouted. "Halt, I say!" The knight glanced round: far out afield, With spear raised high and ready shield, A rider galloped whistling shrilly. Ruslan, his heart with anger filling, His steed turned speedily about And charged toward his grim assailant Who met him wdth a brazen shout: "Aha, I've caught you up, my gallant! First taste of steel, then seek your fair!" Now, this Ruslan could little bear; He recognized the voice and hated The sound of it. "How dares he! I'll-"

But where's Ludmila? For a while Let's leave the two men; we have waited Quite long enough, 'tis time to turn To our dear maid now and to learn How she, one lovely past comparing, Has at her captor's hands been faring.

A confidant of wayward fancy, Not always modest have I been, And this my narrative commencing, Dared to describe the night-cloaked scene In which our fair Ludmila's charms \Vere from her husband's eager arms Whisked off. Poor maid! When, quick as lightening, The villain with one movement mighty Removed you from the bridal bed, And like a whirlwind, skyward soaring, Through coils of smoke charged on, ahead Toward his kingdom's mountains hoary, You swooned away, but all too soon Recovered from that welcome swoon To find yourself, aghast, dumfounded, By lofty castle walls surrounded.

Thus-it was summer-at the door Of my house lingering, � saw The sultan of the henhouse chasing One of his ladies, and moved by Hot passion, with his wings embracing The flustered, nervous hen.... On high � grey kite hovered, old marauder Of poultry-yards; in rings o'erhead He slowly sailed, unseen; then, boldly, With lightning speed, dropped down, a dread And ruthless foe, his plans death-dealing Laid earlier.... Up soars he, sealing The fate of his poor, helpless prey. Clutched in his talons, far away He bears her to the safety of A dark crevasse. In vain, with fear And hopeless sorrow filled, his love The rooster calls: he sees her airy And weightless fluff come drifting near, By swift, cool breezes downward carried.

Like some dread dream, oblivion Ludmila chains. She cannot rise And, in a stupor, moveless lies.... The soft, grey light of early dawn Revives her, deep within her rouses Unconscious fear and restlessness; Sweet thoughts of joy her heart possess, For surely her beloved spouse is Nearby!... "Where are you, dear one? Come! She whispers, and-is stricken dumb. W^here is your chamber, my Ludmila? Poor, luckless maiden, you lie pillowed Upon a lofty feather-bed; On silken cushions rests your head; The canopy that floats above you Is tasselled, rich, and like the cover, Patterned most prettily. Brocade Is everywhere, and winking, blazing Gems likewise. From fine censers made Of gold rise balmy vapours hazy.... But 'tis enough! This pen of mine Must fly description-by another Was I forestalled: Scheherezade. And no house, be it e'er so fine, Affords you any pleasure, mind you, Unless your love is there beside you.

Just then, in garments clad air-thin, Three comely maidens tiptoed in. With bows for the occasion suited Ludmila mutely they saluted, Then one, of footstep light, drew n' And with ethereal fingers plaited Her silken locks, a way, I hear, Of dressing hair that has outdated Long since become. Upon her head � diadem of fine pearls setting, She then withdrew. With softest tre The second maid approached; 'thout letting Herself glance up, all modesty, In sky-blue silk Ludmila she Gowned quickly, and her golden tresses Crowned with a mis-like veil that fell About her shoulders. There-how well It shields her, with what grace caresses Charms for a goddess fit; her feet Encased are in a pair of neat And dainty shoes. The third maid brings her A pearl-incrusted sash; unseen, A gay-voiced songstress ballads sings her.... But neither shoes, nor gown, nor e'en The pearly sash and diadem The princess please; no song delights her, Indifferent she stays to them; In vain the looking-glass invites her To eye her new-found finery And revel in its wealth and splendour - The sight seems almost to offend her: Her gaze is blank; sad, silent she.

Those who love truth and like to read The heart's most secret book, must know That should a lady, plunged in woe, In spite of habit or of reason, Oblivious of time or season, Into a mirror through her tears Forget to peek-well, then she is In a most grievous state, indeed.

Ludmila, left alone again, Uncertain what to do, beneath A window stands and through the pane Drear, boundless reaches, wondering, sees. On carpets of eye-dazzling snow Her gaze rests; filled is she with sadness.... Before her all is stark white deadness; The peaks of brooding mountains show Above the silent plains, and, sombre, Seem wrapt in deep, eternal slumber: No wayfarer plodding slowly past, No smoke from out a chimney trailing, No hunter's horn resounding gaily Over the snow-bound, endless waste.... Only the rebel wind's wail dismal At times disrupts the calm abysmal, And etched against the sky's bleak grey, The nude and orphaned forests sway.

Despairing, tearful, poor Ludmila Her face hides in her hands, unwilling To think of what may be in store.... She pushes at a silver door Which opens with a sound most pleasing; Before her, with their beauty teasing The eye, spread gardens that surpass King Solomon's in loveliness, And e'en Armide's and those that to Taurida's prince belonged. The view Is one of trees, green arbours forming And swaying gently; in the air Of myrtle floats the sweet aroma; Palms line the paths, and bays; with their Proud crowns the mighty cedars boldly The heavens brush; agleam with golden Fruit are the orange groves; a pond Mirrors it all.... The hills beyond, The vales and copses by the blaze of Spring are revived; the wind of May Sweeps o'er the spellbound leas in play In song melodious and gay A nightingale its sweet voice raises; Great fountains upward, to the sky, Send sprays of gems, then down, enwreathing The statues that, alive and breathing, Around them stand. If Phidias' eye On these could rest, he, though by Pallas And by Apollo taught, would, jealous, His magic point and chisel drop.... In swift and fiery arcs that shatter 'Gainst marble barriers which stop Their headlong downward plunge and scatter The tiny motes of pearly dust, The waterfalls cascade, while just A few steps farther out, in nooks By thick trees shadowed, rippling brooks Plash sleepily.... The vivid greenness Is by the whiteness here and there Flecked of the lightly-built pavilions That offer shelter from the glare.... And roses, roses everywhere!... But comfortless is our Ludmila, What round her lies she does not see; The magic garden does not thrill her With all its sensuous luxury.... She walks all over, where she's going Not caring; more-not even knowing, But weeping copious tears, her eye Fixed sadly on the merciless sky.... Then suddenly her gaze grows brighter And to her lip her hand flies lightly: Despite the sparkle of the morn A frightening thought in her is born.... The dread way's open: death waits for her - Above a torrent, there before her, A bridge hangs 'twixt two cliffs. Forlon The hapless maid is and despondent, She looks upon the foaming stream, Her tears grow ever more abundant, She strikes her heaving breast-'twould ; She is about to jump-but no, We see her pause ... and onward go.

Time passes, and Ludmila, weary, (Too long has she been on her feet) Feels her tears drying as the cheering Thought comes that yes, it's time to eat. She drops down on the grass, looks round her, And lo!-a tent's cool walls surround her.... The gleam of crystal! A repast Is set before her, unsurpassed In choice of food. The gentle sound of A harp steals near. But though at this She marvels, our young princess is Still not at peace, still sorrow-hounded. "A captive, from my love torn, why Should I not end it all and die?" Thinks she. "Oh, villain, you torment me Yet humour me: such is your whim, But I ... I scorn you and contempt Your wily ways. This feast you sent me, This gauzy tent wherein I sit, These songs, a lovelorn heart's outpouring, Which, for all that, are rather boring,- In faith, I need them not a whit! 'Tis death I choose, death!" And repeating The word again, the maid starts... eating.

Ludmila rises; in a twinkling Gone are the tent and rich repast; The harp is silenced, not a tinkling Disturbs the calm.... On walks she, past The greening groves and round them wanders, While high above the wizard's gardens The moon appears, of night the queen, And in the heavens reigns supreme. From every side soft mists come drifting And on the hilltops seek repose. Our princess feels inclined to doze, And is by some strange powers lifted As gently as by spring's own breeze And carried through the air with ease Back to the chamber richly scented With rose oil, and put down again Upon the couch where, grief-tormented, She lay before. And now the same Three youthful maidens reappear And, round her bustling, they unfasten Hooks and the like of them and hasten To take her raiments off. They wear An anxious look; of mute compassion Their aspect leaves a faint impression And of a dull reproach to fate. But let's not tarry more: 'tis late, And fair Ludmila is by tender And skillful hands by now undressed. Robed in a snowy shift that renders Her charms more charming still, to rest She lays her down. The three maids, sighing, Back out with bows, the door is shut. What does our captive?-Lies there, but Shakes leaf-like, and, sleep from her flying, Feels chilled and dares not breathe. Her gaze Bedimmed by fear, she moveless stays And tense, with all her being trying To penetrate the voiceless gloom, The numbing stillness of the room; Her heart throbs wildly, fitfully, An agitated, endless thru nming.... The silence seems to whisper; she Hears someone to her bedside coming And in her pillows hides, and oh!- The horror of it-footsteps.... No! It cannot be, she must be dreaming. The door swings open; there's a flare Of light, and silent, pair by pair, \ file of Moors, their sabres gleaming, Steps in with even, measured stride. A look most grave and solemn wearing, On downy pillows they are bearing A silver beard. Puffed up with pride, A pose assuming grand and stately, Behind it marches in sedately A hunchbacked dwarf, chin high. It is To him the beard belongs. On his Clean-shaven pate a tall, close-fitting Tarbush. wound round with cloth, is sitting. He nears her, and Ludmila, led By shock and fright, flies off her bed And at him, and his cap she clutches, And lifts a shaking fist, no doubt To try to shield herself. And such is The shriek the poor maid now lets out The Moors are deafened by't, while pale Than his fair captive turns her jailer. He makes to flee, half turns about, Claps hands to ears in desperation, And trips, a victim of frustration And umbrage, on his beard, falls to The floor, gets up, falls dow^n anew, Is quite entangled.... In a dither His dusky menials all are. Hither And thither rush they, shout and push. Then. flushed, confused, a wee bit angered, They bear him off to be untangled And quite forget the dwarfs tarbush.

But what of our young hero? Pray Remember the unlooked-for fracas. Your pencil, quick, Orlovsky! Make us A sketch of that night-shrouded fray.

The moon shines down upon a cruel And savage match. Incensed, the young Combatants fight their bloody duel Thout respite. Their great lances flung Are far from them, their swords lie shattered, Likewise their shields, their mail is spattered With blood.... And yet the gory joust Goes on. Beneath them, waging battle, Their steeds whip up dark clouds of dust. In an embrace of steel the two Bold knights are locked (they're on their mettle), But seem quite moveless, as if to Their saddles welded. Rage and ire Their limbs turn stiff. A liquid fire Sweeps like a torrent through their veins; They're intertwined; chest 'gainst chest streins- But now they weaker grow, they tire; 'Tis clear that soon one of them must Go under, by the other bested. Ruslan with iron hand a thrust To his fierce rival gives, and, wresting Him from the saddle, lifts him high Above himself and never falters But hurls him down into the waters That seethe below them, shouting "Die!"

I'm sure, my friends, you've guessed arigh With whom my brave and gallant knight His duel fought. Of battles deadly The seeker rash it was, Rogdai. The hope of Kiev, darkly, madly Ludmila loved he and was by This led to seek his rival. On A Dnieper bank it was he found him: Persistence and resolve had won! Alas! The hero's strength unbounded Deserted him, and in the wild He met his end, was then beguiled By a young mermaid who caressed him, And to her icy bosom pressed him, And, laughing, drew him down at last.... For many years thereafter, when Night came and o'er the heavens cast Its sable shroud, his ghost, appearing There on the bank or in a clearing, Would frighten lonely fishermen.

CANTO THE THIRD

You tried to stay from all eyes hidden Save friendship's own, my verse-in vain! To envy's scrutiny unbidden Are you subjected all the same. A mindless critic has already The ticklish question asked me, why, As if to mock Ruslan, his lady I have been calling "maid". Now, I Appeal to you, my good, kind reader, Does not with his lips malice speak? Come, Zoilus, come, sly-tongued schemer - What fitting answer can I make? Blush, wretch, and God be with you, argue With you I'll not, my heart is free Of tainted thought, and silent, mark you, I stay, kept so by modesty. Dull Hymen's victim, you, Climene, Will understand; yes, I can see you Gaze downward languidly, for me you Feel deeply, sweet.... A tear falls, then Another on the lines my pen

Has scribbled; clear are they, I know, To hearts like yours; you flush, the glow Fades from your eye, your muted sigh is Most eloquent-a time of trials Is nearing.... Quake, O jealous one! For wilful Love with Anger mated A plot lays-yes, well may you frown: Your brow inglorious is fated To boast revenge's tw^in-horned crown.

A cold dawn gilds the finely chiselled Tops of the hills.... There reigns throughout Grim silence. Sulkily the wizard In dressing gown and still without His cap, sits on the bed, and, yawning, Seems angered by the glow of morning. His dusky slaves, close to him pressing, Are busy with his beard, a comb, A fine one, made of walrus bone, Through all its curvings gently passing To give them strength and beauty, thy Pour balm upon his termless whiskers, And, using curling irons, briskly Make waves in them.... The calm of day Is broken-through the window sailing, A dragon comes; it clangs its scaly, Well furbished armour, folds its wings, Coils swiftly into shiny rings, And suddenly, to the surprise Of all, takes old Nahina's guise. "Hail, brother mine!" says she. 'I knew you Till now by loud report alone, But never grudged you, be it known The high esteem and honour due you. Now secret fate has joined us two In enmity. The threat of danger Hangs like a dark cloud over you, While I'm to be the sole avenger Of slighted honour, mine, my own; Its voice I heed." The dwarf, a wily Look on his face, in unctuous tones Makes his reply: 'T value highly,"-

To her he now extends his hand- ''Divine Nahina, our alliance. We'll easily the Finn withstand; I fear him not at all, for mine is The greater strength; he ill compares With me, I vow. This beard I wear, Grey though it is, has special powers, And no bold knight, no foe of ours, However brave, no mortal can, Unless by hostile force 'tis severed. Vpset mv least design or plan; Ludmila will be mine forever. As for Ruslan, to die he's doomed!" "To die! To die!" the witch repeated With catty spite. "To die!" she boomed. And then. her mission thus completed. She hissed three times, thrice stamped the ground, And flew. a dragon's shape regaining, Off and awav, with vengeance flaming..

In fine brocade most richly gowned And bv the old witch cheered and heartened, The wizard to the maid's apartment Anew decided to repair And take his silken whiskers there And lovelorn heart. We see him going From room to room, he passes through A row of them, vexation growing. Wbere is his fair young captive? To The park he hastes at first, then makes for The grove, the waterfall, the lake shore, The arbours, but, dear reader mine, Finds of the princess not a sign. By this he's driven nearly frantic, We hear him moaning, raving, ranting; He pants, he shakes in every limb, The light of day's obscured for him. "Here, slaves!" he splutters, in a flurry. "The maid is lost! She's disappeared! Be off with you, you idlers, hurry! If she's not found, with this my beard, I jest not, I will have you strangled. Beware!"

But let us leave the angered Dwarf, reader, and I'll tell you where Our maid has gone.... All night she pondered Her fate, of danger well aware, But as she wept she ... smiled. You'll wonder Why so.... She'd met the dwarf, and he, Despite the beard that she so hated, Seemed a mere clown, and, you'll agree, That fear and laughter are ill-mated. Ludmila rises as the dawn Is born, and morning's rays creep nearer, Her sleepy gaze unconscious drawn Toward a lofty, shining mirror. Instinctively she lifts her tresses From lily shoulders, o'er them passes, As habit tells her to, her hands And plaits the silky, golden strands. The garments that she has been given Lie in a corner. With a sigh She starts to dress, is newly driven To quiet tears, but keeps an eye Upon the faithful glass wherein She sees herself. A sudden whim To put the dwarfs hat on now seizes The princess. It is always fun, Now, is it not, to try things on, The very thought is one that pleases! Besides, by none can she be seen, And, what is of no smaller matter, There is no hat that will not flatter A girl who's only seventeen! And so the wicked midget's hat Ludmila turns this way and that; Straight, then askew she makes it sit, Down on her eyebrows pushes it, Claps it on front-to-back.... Behold! A miracle!-In times of old They happened often, it appears- Ludmila's image disappears, Gone is she from the glass completely; But in a moment, as she neatly Turns the hat round, she's there again! Once, twice she tries it, and the same Thing happens. Cries the princess: "Splendid! My troubles now are all but ended. So much for you, vile dwarf, your hunt For me is over!" And, cheeks glowing, Herself to be in safety knowing, She puts the hat on back-to-front.

For shame! Too long has our attention Been claimed bv beard and hat of late; Our hero giving up to fate, Of him-alack!-we made no mention. His duel with Rogdai behind him, He passes through a lonely wood, And in a sunlit dale we find him His stallion reining in. A mood Of sudden, awful dread comes o'er him: An ancient battlefield'1 s before him, And grim it looks, for everywhere Gleam yellow bones, and here and there Old, broken armour lies, corroding; A quiver and a rusty shield Rest near at hand; far out afield Stiff, bony fingers hold a moulding Green sword, a skull is seen to rot Within a weed-grown helm. And what Is that ahead? A skeleton, That of a knight, still armed and on His fallen, fleshless charger seated, As if alive and undefeated. Entwined with ivy, arrows, lances, Spears from the earth stick. Not a sound Disrupts of these forlorn expanses The haunting silence and profound; The sun alone the vale invades Of death and of its lingering shades.

Sad-eyed the knight around him gazes. "O field, wide field, you bear the traces Of slaughter," says he with a sigh. "Who planted you to bones and why? By whose fleet stallion were you trampled? What bloody battle here was fought With perseverance unexampled?

Who prayed here and salvation sought? Why are you mute, why with the grasses O'ergrown of cold oblivion? Is there escape from it for none? Is it that time all, all erases? What if upon some nameless hill I am to lie? Mayhap Bayan \Vill never chant of me or on My deeds dwell...."'

Thus thought he It came to him, and this most clearly, That what he needed-needed dearly- Was armour and a sword, the night Of combat having left him quite Unarmed, alack, or ... very nearly. On this intent, he w^alks around The battlefield w^here bones lie scattered And armour, time- and weather-battered, To see if something can be found. A sudden clank! A rousing clatter! The plain from numbing sleep awakes. A helmet and a shield, the latter At random picking up, he takes, And then a ringing horn, but no Sword to his liking finds, although Scores of them strew the field of battle: Being no puny modern knight, Young Prince Ruslan declines to settle For one he thinks too short or light. The boredom fearing of inaction, A steel lance chooses he for play, Puts on a hauberk for protection, And, thus arrayed, goes on his way.

The flames of sunset, slowly paling, Fade o'er an earth embraced by sleep. From out the mists the heavens veiling, A golden moon is seen to creep. The steppe grows dimmer, nighttim's hazes Float over it; the path looms dark. As our young knight rides on, his gaze Drawn by a huge black mound, and-hark!- A fearsome snore comes from't. Our hero Undaunted by it, rides up nearer: The strange mound seems to breathe. Ruslan, Quite unperturbed, looks calmly on. Not so his steed, who balks at making Another step and stands there quaking With bristling mane and twitching ear In quite ungovernable fear. But now the pale orb born to range The sleepy skies, lights up the nightly, Mist-covered plain and mound more brightly, A sight revealing wondrous strange. Can pen describe the like?... A Head, A living Head is there! In slumber Its eyes are shut, it snores, is dead To all the world, but every rumble, Each breath and wheeze that from it comes The helmet stirs and sends the plumes That reach the shadowed heights a'swaying. Above the gloomy plain and greying, The wasteland's guard, in all its chill And frightful splendrousness it towers, An aw^esome hulk, part of the still And fearful night, possessed of powers Weird, menacing.... Ruslan decides To rouse it, and, his eyes half doubting, Around the Head he slowly rides. Here is the nose! Without dismounting, The nostrils with the tip of his Sharp lance he delicately teases. The great face puckers up at this; The great Head, eyes now open, sneezes!... A whirlwind starts, dust swirls, the pain Rocks mightily and rocks again, As if by a convulsion shaken. The whiskers, lashes, eyebrows rain Whole flocks of owls. The groves awaken. The echo sneezes. Shocked, the steed Lets out a neigh and rears.... Indeed, He all but throws the knight. A bellow The air rends: "Back, you foolish fellow! I jest not. Come and get your due: I gobble malaperts like you!"

Ruslan, provoked, looks round, and, reining His horse in sharply, laughs in scorn, To make a tart retort disdaining. "Was ever such a nuisance born!" The Head declares (its tones are surly). "Sent here by fate to try me, were you? What do you want? Make off! Adieu! I'm going back to sleep." "Not you!" The prince exclaims, these rude words hearing, And, filled with anger and disgust, Says: "Silence, empty pate! A just Truth is it, one not said in vain: A massive dome, a pygmy brain!" And then he adds in accents searing: "I ride along and no grudge bear you, But cross my path, and I won't spare you!"

At this, the Head, by such cheek numbed, To a most awful rage succumbed. It swelled, it flamed, its pale lips trembled, Turned paler still, were flecked with froth, Its eyes two balls of fire resembled, Great clouds of steam now poured from both Its ears and mouth. And then it started, Cheeks puffing up, with all its might To blow at our hapless knight. To no avail the horse, much startled, Head downward held and eyes squeezed tight, To push through rain and whirlwind strained; Half-blinded, terrified, and drained Of half his strength, he spun around And ran, for safer places bound. Ruslan made fresh attempts to guide him And to attack the Head anew- He was repulsed, at him it blew And cackled crazily. Behind him He heard it boom: "Ho, knight, where to? To flee is most unwise of you, You'll break your neck! Come, my assailant, Attack me, show me just how valiant You are! But no, you'd better stop; Your poor old nag is fit to drop!" And sticking out its tongue, it taunted And teased the knight. The monster's leer Left our young hero quite undaunted Though sorely vexed. He raised his spear And at the Head the weapon flung, And, quivering, the brazen tongue It pierced and there was to remain Stuck fast in it. Of blood a torrent Poured from the maw. The great Head's pain And its amazement were apparent; Gone was its cheek, its beet-red hue; Upon the prince its great eyes fastened, It chewed on steel, and greyer grew, And though still seething, was much chastened. So on the stage one of the Muse's Less worthy pupils sometimes loses His head, a sense of where he is When deafened by a sudden hiss. He pales, he quakes, what he is there for Well-nigh forgetting, with an effort Declaims his lines and ... stops, unheard By the derisive, jeering herd. Our gallant knight, the huge Head finding To be thus discomposed and dazed, Flew hawk-like toward it, hand upraised And in a heavy gauntlet cased, And dealt the giant cheek a blinding And crushing blow. There starts an echo That carries o'er the gloomy plain. The dewy grass is richly stained With bloody foam. For nigh a second The great Head sways and rocks, the, lo!- It topples, hits the ground below And starts to roll, the steel helm maing A mighty clatter. But behold!- A huge sword, glittering like gold, A champion's sword, there's no mistaking The look of it, lies where the Head Lay 'fore its fall. The prince, elated, Now seizes it, and the ill-fated Head follows, bv the fierce wish led To lop its ears and nose off. Routed It lies before him, he's about to Bring down the sword when a low plea, A faint moan stops him. Startled, he Lets his arm sink, his ire subsiding, And ruth, not wrath his actions guiding. As in a vale snow quickly thaws When touched by midday's sunshine flaming, So supplication trims the claws Of vengeance, its brute powers taming.

"You brought me to my senses," sighing, The Head now said in accents lame. "Your right hand proved beyond denying That I have but myself to blame. I promise you, I will obey you, But mercy, mercy, knight, I pray you! For grim has my plight been; I too Was once a valiant knight like you, By none on battlefield excelled Or to lay dow^n my arms compelled. And happy I-were't not for my Young malformed brother's rivalry! For Chernomor, that fount of hatred, Alone my downfall perpetrated! A bearded midget and a stain Upon our family's good name, For me who was both tall and straight He felt a bitter jealousy, But hid his all-consuming hate Behind an outward courtesy. Alas! I have been simple ever, While he, this wretch of comic height, Is diabolically clever And full of viciousness and spite. Besides-I quake as I confess this- That fancy beard of his possessed is Of magic powers: while whole it stays That true embodiment of evil, The dwarf, is safe from harm. With base Intentions but in accents civil To me one fateful day he said: � need your help.' (There's no refusing Such an appeal.) 'You see, perusing A book of magic once, I read That where rise mighty hills, and breakers Against them smash, in a forsaken Stone vault, known to no human, lies A magic sword that was created By baneful spirits. Fascinated, I studied hard and learnt the meaning Of secret words, in this wise gleaning A truth to great fears giving rise: That this sword, so the skies portend And fate wills, both our lives will end By parting us, my friend and brother, Me from my beard, you from your head. We must procure the sword, none other, And 'thout delay'. 'Well, well,' I said, 'What's stopping us? We need not tarry! You'll point the way out. Come, now, hurry, Get on my shoulder, brother mine; On to the other one a pine I'll hoist. If need be we will go To the earth's very end.' And so Upon our way at once we started, And, God be thanked, as if to spite The soothsay, all at first went right, And those far mountains, happy-hearted, I reached at last and went beyond, And there the secret dungeon found, And with my bare hands broke it open And drew the sword out, always hoping That fate would merciful remain. But no! We quarrelled once again. The cause ?-O'er which was to possess it No mean reward, I must confess it. He raved, I reasoned, so it went Until the wily one, while seeming To yield his ground and to relent, Devised, to work my ruin scheming, A knavish ruse. 'Enough! This sparring, This shameful tiff, life's pleasures marring,' Said he with solemn mien, 'must cease. Is it not better to make peace? Whose sword this is to be, I'm thinking, Fate can decide. We'll each an ear Put to the ground, and if a ringing Should yours reach first, why, brother dear, You will have won it.' And, so saying, He dropped on to the ground, and I, I followed suit and lay down by His side.... Ah, knight, there's no gainsaying I was a dolt, a knucklehead, A perfect ass to have believed him- 1 told myself I would deceive him And was myself deceived instead! The ugly wretch stood up, and, stealing On tiptoe to me from the back, The sword raised. Dastardly attack!- It sang, a death-blow to me dealing. Ere I could turn, my poor head was No longer in its place, alas. Preserved by some dark, occult force, It lives (which is no boon, of course), But all the rest of me, unburied, Rots in a place to man unknown; With blackthorn thickly overgrown My frame is; by the midget carried I (Just the head) was to this spot And left to guard-ignoble lot!- The magic sword. For ever after It shall be yours, 'tis only right. Fate's kind to you; should you, O knight, The dwarf meet, be he e'er so crafty, Avenge me-with this great sword smite The ruthless knave, my heart relieving Of all its suffering and grieving. The juicy smack you gave me I Will then forget, without a sigh Or a reproach this sad world leaving."

CANTO THE FOURTH

Each morning as I wake from slumber To God I tender heartfelt praise That of magicians nowadays There is a marked decrease in number, And that they render now far less Precarious our marriages. In fact, their spells need not be dreaded By those of us but newly wedded. But there is witchery and guile, Blue eyes, a tender voice, a smile, A dimpled cheek, and all the rest, Which to avoid, I find, is best. The honeyed poison they exude Intoxicates; I dread, I fear them. Like me beware of staying near them, Embrace repose and quietude.

O wondrous genius of rhyme, O bard of love and love's sweet dreaming, You who portray the sly and scheming Dwellers of hell and realms divine, Of this inconstant Muse of mine The confidant and keeper faithful! Forgive me, Northern Orpheus, do, For recklessly presuming to Fly after you in my tale playful And catching in a most quaint lie Your wayward lyre....

My good friends, I Know that you heard about the evil Old wretch, the hapless sinner who In days of yore sold to the devil His own soul and his daughters' too; Of how through charity and fasting And faith and prayer sincere, long-lasting And penitence without complaint He found a patron in a saint; How, when the hour struck, he died, How his twelve daughters slept, enchanted. Stirred were we, yes, and terrified By visions strangely darkness-mantled, By Heaven's wrath, the Arch-fiend's fury, The sinner's torments. With enduring Delight and joy, let us confess, We eyed the chaste maids' loveliness, W^alked with them, sad of heart and weeping, Around the castle's toothy wall, Or stayed beside them, vigil keeping O'er their calm sleep, their peaceful thrall. We called upon Vadim, exhorted Him to come soon, and when the blest, The holy ones awoke, escorted Them to their father's place of rest. Yet had we been deceived and dare I The truth speak and misgiving bury?...

Ratmir goads his steed on, his way Toward southern plains impatient making, Filled with the hope of overtaking Ludmila 'fore the end of day.... The crimson skies turn slowly darker And vainly with his gaze he strains To pierce the haze that cloaks the plains And sleepy stream. A last ray sparkles Above the wood and paints it gold.

By nighttime's dark, thick veil enfolded, Our knight rides past black, jutting boulders... Oh, for a place to sleep!... Behold!- A vale before him lies, an old Walled castle perching high above it Upon a cliff top; shadow-covered, At every corner turrets show. With all a swan's glide, smooth and slov Along the wall there walks a maiden; By twilight's faint ray lit is she, And on the soft air dreamily Her song floats, in the distance fading:

"Night cloaks the lea; from far away The chilling winds of ocean carry. Come, youthful roamer, do not tarry; Take shelter in our castle, pray!

"The nights in languid calm we spend, The days in feasts and merrymaking. Come, youthful wanderer, attend This fete of ours, to joy awaking.

"Night cloaks the lea, from far away The chilling winds of ocean carry. Come, youthful roamer, do not tarry, Take shelter in our castle, pray!"

He hears her in this manner greet him And hastens, tempted, to the gate Where other fair maids, smiling, wait, A throng of them come out to meet him Their eyes to his face glued, they seek To make him welcome. How entrancing Their speeches are, .the words they speak!...

Two of them lead away his prancer. The castle enters he; en masse The fair young hermits follow. As One of his winged helm relieves him, Another 'thout his armour leaves him, A third removes his sword and shield. The garb of warfare's bound to yield To flimsier dress. But first the splendours Of a true Russian bath wait for The wayworn youth. In torrents endless We see the steaming water pour Into the silver tubs; it eddies And swdrls; swift fountains upward send Sprays that the warm air coolness lend, A breezy freshness; all's made ready To please and gratify the khan. Rich are the rugs that he lies on! Transparent wisps of steam curl o'er him; The maids, all half-nude loveliness, Around him crowd, a mute caress Hid in their downcast eyes, and for him Care with a wordless tenderness. Above him one waves birch twigs that Send off sweet scents, another, at His side stays put and waxes busy, The juice of spring's fresh roses using To cool his weary legs and arms And drown in aromatic balms His curly locks. Ratmir, enraptured, Forgets Ludmila, long since captured, And her once dreamt-of, longed-for charms. With languor filled and with desire, His roving eye agleam, he burns, All passion, and, his heart afire, For love and its fulfilment yearns.

But now7 the baths he leaves, and, wearing Rich velvets, to a feast sits down, With the young sirens gladly sharing The wonders of the board. I own I am no Homer to be singing In lofty verse (not mine his pen The feasts of Grecian fighting men And their great goblets' merry ringing. No, like Parny I would that my Imprudent lyre might tender sigh O'er love's sweet kiss and sing the praises Of nude forms dimmed by night's soft hazes!.. Lit by the moon the castle is; I see a chamber where, reclining Upon a couch, Ratmir sleeps, pining For love in dreamy languor. His Once pallid brow and cheeks are flaming, His lips, half-open, are aglow And seem to be in secret claiming Another's lips; he heaves a low, A moan-like, lingering sigh, and, seizing The quilt, with quickened, fevered breathing, To his breast presses it.... The door Squeaks open, moon beams streak the floor, A maid steals in.... Awake, Ratmir! Of sleep asunder tear the meshes! Night's every moment is too precious, Pray waste them not!... The maid draws near The sleeping knight with softest tread.... His face, on hot down pillowed, blazes, The silk quilt's slipped from off the bed. She holds her breath and at him gazes, Entranced by what she sees, by this Limp, sensuous form now left 'thout cover: She's sanctimonious Artemis Beside her youthful shepherd lover. Then, gracefully and lightly she Puts on the couch a rounded knee, And o'er the lucky sleeper leaning, Sighs deeply, to his breathing listens, And rouses him from sensuous dreaming With passionate and fiery kisses....

But stay! Beneath my slowing fingers The virgin lyre now turns still, My shy voice weaker grows�we will Leave young Ratmir, I dare not sing of Him more or in this vein go on: 'Tis time, friends, to recall Ruslan, That stalwart staunch as he is fearless, That lover true, that gallant peerless. Exhausted by the mighty fray, Beneath the Head he now lies sleeping, But early morning's shining ray Already o'er the sky comes creeping, And turns the Head's thick locks in play To molten gold. Our young knight, blinking, So sharp's the light, from earthen bed Springs quickly up, and in a twinkling By his swift steed is onward sped.

The days run on, the fields turn yellow, The leaves drop from the trees' bared crowns; The autumn wind's fierce whistling drow The winged songsters' music mellow. The nude brown hills are daily haunted By heavy fogs, for winter's near. But our young gallant knows no fear And, bv its icv breath undaunted, Heads northward. Daily now he meets Fresh barriers: now bravely fights he Another knight, now beats a mighty And awesome giant, now defeats � crafty witch. One night he even As in a dream saw mermaids sit On swaying, mist-clothed branches lit By silver moonbeams. Closer driven, He watched them, full of wonder. They Said ne'er a word, but smiling slyly, Tried to enchant and to beguile him. By kind fate shielded, fast away The stalwart rode: they could not win him, Desire soundly slept within him; To find Ludmila was his goal: For he was hers-hers, heart and soul.

Meanwhile, kept from the dwarfs advances Safe by the hat that she has on, Annoyed by no unwanted glances, For thus arrayed, she's seen by none, What does Ludmila?... Silent, teary, She walks the garden paths alone And pines for Prince Ruslan, her dearly Beloved spouse; then, to her home In far-off Kiev her thoughts flying, She brightens and, no longer sighing, Embraces father, brothers, sees Her youthful playmates in her dreams And her old nannies; separation And thralldom suddenly forgot, She's back among them all; but not For long does her imagination Bear her away with it, and soon Anew is she immersed in gloom.... As for the lovesick villain's minions, His orders wordless they obey And search the castle, the pavilions. The grounds 'thout respite night and day. They shout, they rush about insanely, But all, let us admit it, vainly, For being an accomplished tease, The maid provoked them without cease. Before them suddenly appearing, She'd call out happily, "Yoo-hoo!"

And spotting her as well as hearing Her voice, the slaves, a motley crew, Would run to catch her only to Seize upon empty air; her tinkling Laugh sounded as the cap she drew Down on her head, and in a twinkling Was gone.... Where she had passed, they knew, For signs of it, however fleeting, Were to be seen: from off a tree Ripe fruit might vanish, grass might be Left crushed and limp; that she'd been eating Or drinking or else resting there They could not help but be aware. A cedar or a birch provided The maid with shelter; on a bough She'd perch and try to doze, but how Could sleep come to a maiden blinded By endless tears, her heart grief-torn!... Against a tree trunk weakly leaning, She might sigh wearily and yawn And fall a prey to fitful dreaming.... But when the new-born light of day Night's shadows drove away, and pearly The skies turned, 'neath the fall's cool spray She'd wash. The dwarf, one morning early, Saw, upward forced by hands unseen, The water play, then join the stream.... Till darkness had anew descended And moonbeams the lone gardens combed, Of spirit sore, by none attended, Ludmila its far reaches roamed. At times the echoes would be bringing Her sweet voice closer, softly singing. Threads from a Persian shawl, a leaf Chewed through, a tear-stained handkerchief, A garland by her quick hands made Might be found lying in a glade.

His passion and frustration mounting. All else save his piqued pride discountins The dwarf has but a single thought: That the young princess must be caught. Thus did famed Lemnos' hobbling smith, Accepting the connubial wreath From the unrivaled Aphrodite, Decide to snare her charms, delighting The laughing gods by showing them Of love the cunning stratagem.

One day the maid sat bored and weary Inside a marble summer-house And gazed abstracted through the boughs Of trees by wind swayed at the cheery, Bloom-covered meadow just beyond. "My love!" she hears. Ruslan! The sound Of his dear voice. He's there, in person: His face, his form; but dull of eye And pale is he, he bleeds, his thigh Is gashed: a wound, a bad one. "Mercy! Ruslan, 'tis you!" And with a cry She flies to him, and, heartsore, shaking In tears, says to him, her voice breaking: "Ruslan, my husband, you are here And wounded, bleeding.... Oh, my dear!" Her arms go round him.... God in Heaven! What horror's this! She cannot stir, She's trapped, a net enmeshes her!... The cap falls off. Who is her craven And foul pursuer? Cold of limb, She hears: "She's mine!" Her gaze grows dim.... The dwarf, none other! Quite defenseless Is she again; she sees his face And moans, but by the good Lord's grace Dreams now enfold her, she falls senseless.

Poor child! What sight is there more chilling, More certain to provoke our rage! His brazen hand the puny mage Lays on the charms of young Ludmila. Is he-foul thought!-to taste of bliss? But hark! A horn sounds. What means this? A challenge to him? Yes! The midget's.... Face shows cold fear. He quails, he fidgets... A louder blare! Back on her head The magic cap he puts, and, paling, Is off, his beard behind him trailing, To meet the fate that lies ahead.

CANTO THE FIFTH

How dear my princess is, one bows 'Fore her, to sing her praises anxious: She is so tender, unpretentious, So faithful to her marriage vows; Capricious, yes, but not unduly, Which makes her only sweeter, truly. Her ways delight us, they endear Her to us, leaving us enchanted. How to compare her with Delphire Who's so unfeeling, so flint-hearted! By fate endowed has been the first With mien and manner most beguiling; To hear her speak, to see her smiling Makes one's heart throb, with love athirst. Delphire now, spurs and whiskers added, Would make a true Hussar. But stay! Blest is he who at end of day Has a Ludmila waiting for him In some lone nook, and from her hears That he's her love, that she adores him. And likewise blest is a Delphire's Admirer who is too clear-headed To court her long and runs away. But let's not stray too far. Come, say, \Vho was it that the dwarf invited So daringly to fight him? Who Defiantly the trumpet blew And by its sound the villain frightened ?- Ruslan. Afire with vengeance, he Has reached the midget's castle. See? Beneath the palisades he's halted; The trumpet's sound comes storm-like, loud, The steed paws at the snowy ground; The prince awaits the dwarf. A bolt of What seems like thunder deafens him. A crushing blow! It has descended Upon his helmet. Though defended By this his head is, yet with dim, Dull sight it is he upward gazes And sees the dwarf above him fly, A mammoth bludgeon lifted high. Ruslan bends down, his great shield raises And waves his sword, but Chernomor Sweeps upward; then, appearing o'er The prince again and downward swooping He flies straight at him, whereupon The latter feints, his rival duping, And down the midget falls, straight on The well-packed snow, with fear nigh frozen. Ruslan dismounts, and, never pausing, The space between them neatly cleared, Grabs the magician by the beard! The captive grunts and strains, and, heaving Himself from off the bank of snow, Sails skyward with our hero, leaving The knight's astonished steed below. They're 'neath the clouds, Ruslan still gripping The beard and swinging in the air. O'er seas and forests, o'er the bare And rugged hills, their summits tipping, The dwarf wings, and the stalwart knight, Though numb and stiff his hand is growing, Holds dogged on. The dwarf is quite Used up by now and winded. Slowing His progress through the air at length, Amazed and awed by Russian strength, He turns to our young knight and slyly Says to him: "Prince, I'll do you ill

No more; in faith, I value highly Young valour such as yours and will Descend at once-on one condition...." "Be silent, dastardly magician!" Ruslan exclaims. "I will not treat With my beloved bride's tormentor, Nor into any dealings enter With you! This sword-'tis only meet Will punish you, and this most surel' All of your wiles will serve you poorly! Fly to the stars, if you so choose, And still your whiskers you will lose!" A horrid fear the wizard seizes, In vain to free himself he tries, The prince's grip is like a vise, He tweaks the beard, and, gleeful, teases The dwarf by plucking out the hairs For two whole days the midget bear Ruslan, but on the third, a'quiver With fright, he cries: "Have mercy, pray! I've no breath left at all. Deliver Me from this plight without delay. I'm in your hands. Where'er you say We will alight." "Aha, you shiver! Well, then, admit you're overcome By Russian strength! And, villain, come, To my Ludmila quickly take me!"

What is old Chernomor to do? Obedience is his rival's due! And so he's off, quite ill and shaken And flying home. Midst hills of ice He sets the prince down. In a trice Ruslan the Head's sword raises briskly With one strong hand; then, 'thout delay, The other using, grasps the whiskers And cuts them off like so much hay. "There now," he tells him, "that will teach you! Where is that handsome tuft you prize Your strength and pride, you thieving creature?" And to his helm the dwarfs beard ties. He calls his bay who joins him, neighing, Into a bag the pasty-faced And half-dead wizard stuffs in haste, The dancing steed no longer staying, And starts uphill. The top. They ride Up to the massive palace portal. Ruslan-there is no happier mortal- In hot impatience steps inside. The throng of Moors and slave girls, seeing His helm with beard graced, know the knight To be the victor and are fleeing Before him, fading out of sight Like ghosts. Ruslan from hall to hall Strides all alone; we hear him call To his young spouse-the echo answers.... Is she not in the necromancer's Great castle, then? The garden door He opens wide, all expectation, And on walks fast. His eye sweeps o'er The empty grounds in agitation: All's dead, naught stirs, still are the groves, The leafy arbours and the coves; The river banks, the slopes-deserted, The valleys too.... He's disconcerted, For nowhere e'en a trace is there Of her he seeks, nor can he hear The slightest sound. There passes through him A sudden chill, the world grows dark About him, and bleak thoughts come to him: "Captivity.... of grief the mark.... A moment, and the waves-" These fancies, How dismal they! His head hung, he Stands like a rock there movelessly.... His very reason clouds, his senses Fail him. He's all ablaze, he flames; Despairing love's dark poison surges, A mighty torrent, in his veins. Is't not his lady who emerges From darkness, is't not she who clings To him?... He roars her name, he flings Himself about, and, frenzied, raving, His sword in mad abandon waving, At boulders strikes and makes them roll Downhill, and hacking, mowing, slashing, Pavilions to the ground sends crashing, Reduces grove and lea and knoll To barren wastes, and tumbles bridges Into the streams. The distant ridges Send back the clang, the boom, the din; Ruslan's sword sings and whistles. Grim The scene is: all is devastation; Insensed and maddened, our young knigt A victim seeks; on left and right His sword the air cuts 'thout cessation.... Then all at once a chance thrust sends The midget's magic headdress flying From off his captive's brow; so ends The spell cast on her. 'Fore him lying, Enmeshed, Ruslan Ludmila sees. He does not trust his eyes, he is O'ercome by happiness, and, falling At his bride's feet, tears up the nets, And with his tears her limp hands wets, And kisses them, her dear name calling. But closed her lips are and her eyes, And sensuous are the dreams she's seeing That make her bosom sink and rise. Fresh sorrow fills our knight's whole beir What means this sleep? Is she perchance To be forever in a trance?... But hark!-a friend's voice.... 'Tis the Finn,i His councillor, who speaks to him:

"Take heart, O Prince! Upon your way For home set off with fair Ludmila And, strength of purpose your heart filling, To love and honour faithful stay. God's bolt will strike, defeating malice; You shall know peace, all will be well. In Kiev, in Vladimir's palace, Your bride will wake, free of her spell."

Ruslan, much cheered, no longer weary, Lifts up his calmly sleeping bride, And down a slope we see him guide His horse and leave the mountain eyrie.

The midget to his saddle tied, Across a vale, across a forest He hurries, by no rival harassed. In his arms his love rests, a precious And welcome burden. Oh, how fresh is Her face! The vernal dawn can be No more so. 'Gainst her husband's shoulder It rests, all sweet serenity.... The wind born in the barrens boldly Plucks at her silky golden hair. She sighs, the roses on her fair Young cheeks play. Her beloved's name She whispers; 'tis her dreams that bring her His image and her heart inflame; On her lips love's avowals linger. And he-he's all fond contemplation (The sight of her his spirit cheers) - Oh, that sweet smile, those glistening tears, That lovely bosom's agitation!...

Meanwhile, by day, by night they journey Up hill, down dale, but still unspanned The distance is, still far the land Which to behold Ruslan is yearning. The maid sleeps on.... Did our young knight, By fruitless, unassuaged desire Worn-for it seems like years-not tire Of guarding her? Did he delight In virtuous dreams, immodest longing Subduing and in no way wronging His drowsy charge? So told are we By one, a monk, who put in writing The story of the prince, inviting Inquisitive posterity To profit by't. And I-I fully Believe the annalist, for, truly, What's love unshared?-An irksome thing That can but little pleasure bring. Ludmila's sleep did not resemble Yours in the least, nymphs of the mead, When languid springtime's call you heed And in the cooling shade assemble Of leafv trees.... I well recall That happy day in early summer, A tiny glade at evenfall, And lovely Lida feigning slumber... That kiss of mine, so light, so shy, So hurried, young love's fresh, sweet token, Could not awake the maid; unbroken It left her sleep.... But, reader, why Do I talk nonsense? Why this needless Remembrance of a love long dead? Forgot its joys, its pain, its heedless And trying ways. To speak I'm led Of those not long from my thoughts gone: Ludmila, Chernomor, Ruslan.

A vale before them spreads; upon it Rise clumps of spruces, and a mound Looms farther out, its strangely round And very dark and gloomy summit Against the bright blue sky outlined. Our youthful knight at once divined That 'twas the Head before them showin; The steed speeds on, more restive growing; Across the plain its great hooves thunder.... And lo!-they're close, they're nearly there; Before them is the nine days' wonder, It fixes them with glassy stare. It is a thing repulsive, horrid: Its inky hair falls on its forehead; Drenched of all life, the hue of lead Its face is, while the huge lips, parted, And, like the cheeks, of colour bled, Disclose clenched teeth; over the Head Its hour of doom hangs. Our brave-hearted And doughty knight rides up and faces Its sightless gaze; the midget graces The horse's rump. "Hail, Head!" Ruslan Cries loudly, for the Head to hear him. "He who betrayed you is undone! Look! Here he is, none now need fear him!" These words the Head revivified And in it roused new, fresh-born feeling. It looked dow^n at them, and, revealing All of its anguish, moaned and sighed. Our hero it had recognized, And at the midget, nostrils swelling, Stared, full of venom undisguised. A fiery red its pale cheeks turned, And in its death-glazed eyes there burned A fury fierce and all-compelling. In towering rage, incensed, confused, It gnashed its giant teeth, and stuttered, And smothered imprecations muttered, And with its slowing tongue abused Its hated brother.... But the pain, Prolonged as it had been, was ceasing; The dark, flushed face turned pale again, And weaker grew the heavy breathing. Its eyes rolled back, and soon Ruslan And magus knew that all was over: A spasm, and the Head was gone. The knight rode off at once, much sobered; As for the dwarf, he did not dare To breathe, and, all his past strength losing, To fiends in hell addressed a prayer, The language of black magic using.

Where a small nameless streamlet wound, Upon the sloping bank above it, By dark and shaded forest covered, There stood, nigh sunk into the ground, A run-down hut. Thick pine-trees shaded Its roof. The waters, somnolent, Licked lazily at a much faded And worn-down fence of reeds and went With gentle murmur round it snaking; The breeze ��-w softly, only making A faint sound.... There it was that spread A vale, and such was its seclusion, It gave one the distinct illusion That an unbroken silence had Here from the birth of Time been reigning. Ruslan now stopped his horse. The weaning And peaceful night to morn gave way; The grove and valley sparkling lay "Neath veils of haze. His sleeping bride The prince laid on the grass, and, seating Himself beside her, close, he sighed And looked at her, his young heart beating With dulcet hope. Just then a boat's White sail he glimpses, and there float A fisher's song above the water That drowns its gentler voice and sofu The man has cast his nets, and, bendi With zeal and promptness to the oar, His humble vessel now is sending Straight for the hut perched on the shore, The good prince shades his eyes and watches: There now-the boat the green bank touches, And from the hut there hurries out A sweet young maid; her hair about Her shoulders loosely falls, she's slender And bare of breast, her smile is tender, She's charm itself. The two embrace And on the bank sit, taking pleasure In one another, in this place, And in a quiet hour of leisure. But whom to his intense surprise Does Prince Ruslan now recognize In this young fisherman? Dear Heaven! It is Ratmir! Yes, it is he, A man for exploit born, and even For fame itself, one of his three Sworn rivals. On this halcyon shore He turned to fair Ludmila faithless, And for his new love's warm embraces Relinquished fame for ever more.

Ruslan came up to him, astounded; The recluse khan his rival knew. A cry, and to the prince he flew And joyous threw his arms around him "You here, Ratmir? Lay you no claim To greater things?" our hero asked hin "Have you found life like ours too tasking Thus to reject your knightly fame?" "In truth, Ruslan," replied the khan, "War and its phantom glory bore me; Behind me have I left my stormy, Tumultuous years. This peace, this calm, And love, and pastimes innocent Bring me a hundred-fold more gladness

My lust for combat being spent, No tribute do I pay to madness; Rich am I, friend, in happiness, And have all else forgot, yes, even Ludmila's charms." "I'm glad, God bless You for't, Ratmir, for fate has given Her back to me...." "You have your bride With you!" amazed, the young khan cried. "What luck! I too once longed to free her.... W^here is she, then? I'd like to see her- But no! I'll not betray my mate; Made mine by a forgiving fate, She wrought this change in me, the fervour Of eager youth in me revived; Because I'm hers, because I serve her I know true love and am alive. Twelve sirens who professed a longing For me without regret I spurned; My heart to none of them belonging, I left them never to return; I left their merry home, a castle That in a shaded forest nestled, My sword and helm laid down, and foe And fame forgot. 'Twas, my friend, so That, peace and solitude embracing, A kithless hermit I became, And dwell, to no one known by name, With her I love...."

Lpon him gazing, The shepherdess ne er left his side; Now smiled she sweetly, now she sighed.... On, on, unseen, the hours went racing. Their hearts by friendship warmed, till night Set in, o'er all its patterns tracing, The fisher sat beside the knight.... It's still and dark. The half-moon's light, Pale just at first, is brighter growing. Time to be off! A cover throwing With gentle hand o'er his young bride, Ruslan goes off to mount his steed. The khan, bemused, preoccupied, In spirit follows him; indeed, Good luck in all his daring ventures He wishes him and happiness And his proud dreams and past adventres Recalls with fleeting wistfulness....

Why is it Fortune has not granted My fickle Lyre the right to praise Heroic deeds alone? Why can't I Of love and friendship, that these days Are out of fashion, chant? A bard Of Truth, why must I (God, it's hard!) Denounce spite, venom, vice, am fated In my sincere and artless songs To bare for those to come the wrongs By crafty demons perpetrated?

Farlaf, Ludmila's worthless wooer, A wretch, still eager to pursue her, But all his dreams of glory gone, Out in the wilds lived, isolated From all mankind and known to none, And for Nahina's coming waited. Nor did he, reader, wait in vain: For here she is, the ancient dame! A solemn hour. "You know me, stalwart," She says to him. "Now mount, and forward! Come after me." And lo!-wdth that She turns herself into a cat, And then, the charger saddled, races Off and away. She's followed by Farlaf on horseback. Through the mazes Of gloomy forests their paths lie.

Clad in night's haze that never lifted, The vale lay tranquil, slumber-bound, And, veiled in mist, the pale moon drifted From cloud to cloud and lit the mound With fitful rays. Beneath it seated, Our hero, staying at her side, Kept vigil o'er his sleeping bride. By tristful thought all but defeated The poor prince was; within him crowded Dreams, fancies and imaginings; Beginning gently to enshroud him, Above him hovered sleep's cool wings. His closing eyes upon the sweet Young maid he tried to fix, but, feeling Unable this to do, sank, reeling, By slumber captured, at her feet. A dream comes to him, bodeful, gloomy: He seems to see Ludmila, his Sweet princess, pale-faced and unmoving, Pause on the brink of an abyss. She vanishes, and he is standing Above the dreaded chasm alone, And from it comes, the spirit rending, A call for help, a piteous moan.... 'Tis she! He jumps, and flies apace, To pierce the darkness vainly straining. Through fathomless, night-mantled space, And then, at long last bottom gaining, Steps on hard ground.... Vladimir's palace Before him towers.... He enters. There is The old Prince with his grey-haired knights, His twelve young sons, his guests, all seated At festive tables. No smile lights Vladimir's face. He does not greet him And seems as wroth as on the dread And well-remembered day of parting. All silent stay, no banter starting, No talk. But there-is not the dead Rogdai among them, his past rival, The one that he in battle slew? Quite unaware of his arrival, A froth-topped goblet of some brew He gaily drains. Surprised, Ruslan Espies Ratmir, the youthful khan, And others, friends and foes, ringed near him; The gusli tinkle, old Bayan Of deeds heroic chants-to hear him Is strange. Farlaf now enters, leading Ludmila in. The Prince, receding Into himself, his grey head bowed, Says not a word. The silent crowd Of boyars, princes, knights, concealing What so disquiets, so dismays And frightens them, quite moveless stays. Then, in an instant, all is gone.... A deathly chill o'er his heart stealing, Ruslan now finds himself alone. From his eyes tortured tears are flowing Sleep fetters him, he tries to break Its leaden chains, but fails, and, knowing 'Tis but a dream, cannot awake. Above the hill the moon looms pale; Dark are the forests; in the vale Dead silence reigns, and there, astride His steed, we see the traitor ride. A glade and barrow he has sighted; Stretched at his love's feet, on the ground Ruslan sleeps, and around the mound His stallion walks. Farlaf, much frightened Looks on a'tremble. In the mist The witch is lost. No signal sounding, The bridle dropping from his fist, He rides up closer, his heart pounding And leans across, his broadsword bared, To cleave the knight in two prepared Without a fight. His presence scenting, The stallion whinnies angrily And paws the ground. But what's to be, There is, I fear me, no preventing! Ruslan hears nothing, for sleep on him, Weighs heavily, a cruel vise. Spurred by the wdtch, Farlafs upon him, And plunging deep his sharp steel thrice Into his breast, his priceless prey Lifts up and, weak-kneed, rides away. The hours flew. Beneath the barrow The whole night long our hero lay; The blood from his wounds oozed in narrow, Unending streamlets.... Dawn arrived, And with its coming he revived, Let out a heavy, muffled groan, About him peered, and, vainly trying To lift himself and stand, fell prone, Like one already dead-or dying.

CANTO THE SIXTH

You bid me, O my heart's desire, Take up my light and carefree lyre And chant the lays of old, my leisure Devoting to a faithful Muse. Do you not know, then, that I treasure Love's raptures more and frankly choose To spend but little of my time With that long cherished lyre of mine, That being now at odds with rumour And drunk with bliss, I'm in no humour To welcome toil or harmony's Sweet, winsome strains.... By you I breathe, And though loud are fame's prideful speeches, Their sound my ear but faintly reaches. Of genius the secret fires Are dead; its thoughts are left behind. Love, love alone my heart inspires, Its wild desires invade my mind. But you-you'd have me sing; my stories Of loves long past and erstwhile glories Appeal to you; you wish to hear Of Prince Ruslan and of Ludmila, The dwarf, Nahina, Vladimir, And to the old Finn's woes a willing And patient ear are glad to lend. The tales I spun would sometimes tend To make you feel a trifle sleepy Though with a smile you listened e'er. At other times I was aware How tenderly-this felt I deeply - Your loving gaze the singer's met. Enamored babbler, I will let My fingers pass over the lazy And stubborn strings, and at your feet, The minstrel's customary seat, Strum loudly, my young champion praising.

But where's Ruslan? Out in the field, His blood long cold and long congealed, He sprawls, a raven o'er him swooping, Upon the grass lie limp and drooping The whiskers serving to adorn His helm of steel; mute is his horn.

His golden mane no longer waving, Around the prince his mount walks gravely, Head lowered; in his once bright eye The light has died. Not knowing why The prince lies so, he is unwilling To play and waits for him to wake. In vain! The prince won't move or take The sword up: deep his sleep and chilling.

And Chernomor? There, in the bag, He lies, forgotten by the hag, And knowing naught, his grudges nurses; Worn, sleepy, bored to tears, he curses My youthful hero and his bride.... Then, not a sound his ears assailing For hours on end, he peeps outside- A miracle, no less! Words fail him. For in a pool of blood the knight Lies dead, and no one is in sight; Ludmila's gone, the field's deserted. The wizard crows in joy. ''I'm free!" He cries. "All danger is averted." But he is wrong, as we shall see.

Farlaf, by old Nahina aided, On horseback makes for Kiev; he Is full of hope and fear. The maiden Across the saddle lies asleep. Ahead, the Dnieper, cold and deep, Already shows, its waters flowing Mid native leas; the city's glowing Gold domes and wooden walls draw near. Here is the gate! The townsfolk cheer, And mill about, excitement mounting. Word to the Prince is sent. Before The eyes of all, at palace door We see the knavish youth dismounting.

Meanwhile, Vladimir, called Bright Sun, Was in his lofty terem sitting, And, filled with sorrow unremitting, On his loss brooding. Round him, glum, His knights and boyars sat, a pompous, Stone-visaged lot. A sudden rumpus Is heard without: yells, shouts, a din; The portal opes. A knight comes in. Who can he be? Why the intrusion? All rise. A murmur fills the room, Grows louder. General confusion. Ludmila rescued! And by whom! - Farlaf, of all men! Strange! The Prince, Changed wholly now of countenance, Starts from his chair and, heavy-footed Hastes to his long-lost daughter's side. He touches her; she stirs not; muted Her breathing is. Ruslan's young bride Rests in the killer's arms unfeeling, The hands of magic her lips sealing, Its powers holding her spellbound. His men the aged Prince watch dully As, anxious-eyed and melancholy, Farlaf he queries, though no sound Escapes him."Aye, the maiden sleeps," A finger holding to his lips, Without a qualm, Farlaf says slyly. 'T found her, Prince, held by a wily And wicked goblin captive in A Murom forest. Bound to win Was valour, and it did. We battled For three long days. Above us two The moon rose thrice; then all was settled: He fell. The sleeping maid to you I rushed to bring from that forsaken And lonely spot. W^hen she's to waken And with whose help is only known To fate, whose ways are dark. Alone Hope, yes, and patient meditation Can offer us some consolation."

Throughout the town there flew ere long The fateful news, all hearts distressing. The square filled with a seething throng Of townsfolk, toward the palace pressing. A house of grief, it opes its doors To all, and there the crowd now pours To see the youthful princess sleeping On a raised couch clothed in brocade, The knights and princes o'er the maid With sombre faces vigil keeping. Horns, tympans, gusli, tambourines And trumpets sound. The Prince, grief- worn, His grey head 'gainst his child's feet leans With silent tears. Beside him, torn By mute remorse, dismay, self-pity, Farlaf stands trembling, white of face, His brashness gone without a trace.

Soon darkness fell, but in- the city None closed an eye, and all throughout The night discussed, grouped near their houses, How it could all have come about, Some husbands lingering without And quite forgetting their young spouses, But when the twin-horned moon on high Met dawn, its bright rays slowly paling, There rose throughout a hue and cry, A din, a clang of arms, a wailing. A new alarm! And, shaken, all Come scrambling up the city wall. A mist the river cloaks. Beyond it They see white tents, the glint of shields, Dust raised by horsemen in the field And moving carts: they are surrounded; Up on the hilltops campfires flame... To such scenes Kiev is no stranger; It's clear the city is in danger, The Pechenegs attack again!

While this went on, the Finn, a seer And ruler of the spirits, waited, Withdrawn from all the world, to hear Of happenings anticipated, Foreseen by him.... Calm, tranquil he: What is ordained is bound to be.

Deep in the steppe, sun-parched and soundless, Beyond a chain of hills, the boundless Realm of wild gales and windstorms, where The aweless witch will scarcely dare To walk with the approach of evening, A vale lies hid that boasts two springs: One leaps o'er stones and plays and sings, For it is rich in water living, The other o'er the valley bed Flows sluggishly, its waters dead. All's silence here, no breezes blowing That coolness bring; no busy bird To chatter or to sing is heard; No age-old pines on sand dunes growing Are seen to stir; no fawn,, no deer Drinks of these waters. It is here On guard two spirits have been standing Since Time began, the fear commanding Of all. Before them now the Finn Appears, two jugs, both empty, bearing; Their trance is broken, and from him They flee, to other parts repairing. He fills the vessels with the pure, Sweet water 'fore him softly streaming, And then is off, to vanish seeming Into thin air. A second or Two seconds pass, and in the vale Where, motionless and deathly pale, Ruslan lies, he now stands. First he Dead water o'er the knight sprays, causing The gaping wounds to heal and rosy The grey lips turning suddenly; With living water then he sprays The comely but still lifeless face� And death is vanquished, gone its rigor; Ruslan, full of fresh strength and vigour, Stands up; life courses in his veins, The past a ghastly dream remains Behind him, dim.... O'erjoyed, he faces The rising day that 'fore him blazes. But he's alone.... Where's his young bride?.. Of fear a tremor passes through him; Then his heart leaps, for at his side He sees the Finn who now says to him: "It's as Fate wills. Bliss is in store For you, my son, but not before A bloody feast you'll have attended And with your sword put down the foe. You'll see your bride and gladness know, Once peace on Kiev has descended. Here is a ring for you. Her brow Touch wdth it, and from sleep she'll waken. The very sight of you, I vow, Will leave your foes confused and shaken And put the lot of them to flight. Then will maliciousness and spite, My friend, and all things evil perish. Be worthy of your love and cherish Your bride, Ruslan.... And now goodbye... Beyond the grave will you and I Meet, not before." With this he vanished, And Prince Ruslan, all his fears banished, O'erjoyed to be to life restored, Stands with his arms stretched out toward His friend.... Alas! The grassy lea is Deserted quite save for the bay (The dwarfs still in the bag) who whinnies And rears and shakes his mane. Away The prince now makes to go, and, springing Into the saddle, grips the reins. He's hale and sound. Across the plains And woods we see him boldly winging.

And what of Kiev, by the foe Beleaguered?... There, filled with suspense, High on its walls and battlements, The townsfolk crowd. The fields below Surveying fearfully, they wait God's smiting hand, the hand of fate. Subdued laments come from the houses; No sound the fear-hushed byways rouses. Beside his child in earnest prayer Vladimir kneels, plunged deep in sorrow. His knights and noblemen and their Great warrior-host for war prepare: The bloodv fray's set for the morrow! '

Dawn broke, and down the hills the foes Poured, armed with swords and spears and bows; They surged relentless, never slowing, Wave upon wave across the plains And toward the city walls came flowing. The Kiev trumpets started blowing, And out its men rushed, with the chains Of the attackers boldly clashing. The fray begins! In sudden fear, As death they scent, steeds neigh and rear; The riders, forward headlong dashing, In battle meet, their steel swords flashing. Sent forth in clouds, the arrows hum; The fields turn red: with blood they run. A man who's lost his war-horse faces A horseman: which of them will smite The other first? In wild-eyed fright Across the field a charger races. Death. Cries for help and battle-calls. A Pecheneg, a Russian falls. One's by an arrow pierced swift-flying; Another's maced, his groan unheard; A foeman's shield has crushed a third, And. trampled on, he lies there, dying. The fray went on till dark set in, But neither warring side could win.... The slain in mounds lay; blood flowed freely; Sleep claimed the living, all concealing From their sight. Through the fearful night's Long hours the wounded moaned in pain, And one could hear the Russian knights To their God pray and speak His name.

But paler turned the shade of morn, And in the swiftly-flowing river The rippling waves seemed made of silver: Day, thickly cloaked in mist, was born. The hills and forests slowly brightened; The skies, by sun their blueness heightened, Broke free of sleep.... Yet moveless still The battlefield remained until The hostile camp awoke abruptly, A challenge followed the alarm, And warfare once again erupting, Old Kiev lost its short-lived calm. All rush to watch the scene below And see a knight in flaming mail Through ranks of foemen blaze a trail, See him descend on them and mow Them boldly down-see his sword flash And thrust and stab and cut and slash.... It was Ruslan. The dwarf behind him, His horn triumphantly he blows And like a thunderbolt the foes Strikes down; where'er it is we find him Borne bv his steed, the infidels Row upon row he vengeful fells, And awing the enthralled beholders, With whistling sword parts heads from shoulders....

Where'er he passes, bodies strew The battleground, crushed, headless, dying, With spears and arrows near them lying And heaps of armour. Then, anew The trumpet's battle call remorseless Sounds, and behold!-the Slavic forces To join Ruslan on horseback fly. A fierce fray follows.... Pagan, die! The Pechenegs, those savage raiders, Round up their scattered horses and In panic flee. The feared invaders Of Russ. they can no more withstand The Slavs' attack; their wild yells carry Over the dusty field; their hordes, Cut down by Kiev's smiting swords, The fires of the inferno face.... Kiev exults.... And now our daring Young prince-his horse he sits with grace- On through its gate rides, proudly bearing His sword of victory; his lance Shines star-like, drawing every glance; The blood is seen to trickle down His heavy mail of bronze, he's wearing A helm whose top the whiskers crown Of Chernomor. And all about him There's noise and gaiety and shouting. The very air with his name rings.... Toward the Prince's house on wings Of hope he flies, and goes inside. Here now's the silent chamber where Sleeps fair Ludmila; at her side Her father stands, deep lines of care Etched on his face. There's no one near him, No friend to comfort or to cheer him, For they have all gone off to war.... Farlaf, alone the call of duty Denying, at the chamber door Kept vigil; in him deeply rooted Was an aversion for things martial, To calm and comfort he was partial, And very much so. Seeing who Was there before, him, he surrendered To fear; his blood froze; speechless rendered, On to his knees he fell.... He knew That retribution was his due, That he was doomed. Ruslan, however, The magic ring just then recalled And, faithful to his love as ever, Her pale brow touched with it. Behold!- She oped her eyes and sighed in wonder: Night had been long, too long.... It seemed That she was still entranced, still under The spell of something she had dreamed. And then her vision cleared-she knew him! And fell into his arms, and to him Clung lovingly. By joy made numb, He saw naught, heard naught, his heart raced. And Prince Vladimir, overcome, Wept as his dear ones he embraced.

You will have guessed, and without fail, How ends mv all too drawn-out tale. Flown was Vladimir's wrath ungrounded; Farlaf confessed his guilt; Ruslan, So happy was he, in him found it All to forgive; the dwarf, undone, His powers lost, was added to Vladimir-Bright Sun's retinue; To mark an end to tribulation A sumptuous feast of celebration The Prince held in his chamber high, By friends and family surrounded.

The ways and deeds of days gone by, A narrative on legend founded.

EPILOGUE

Thus, the world's mindless dweller, spending Life's precious hours in idle peace, Its strings my lyre to me lending, I sang the lore of bygone days. I sang, the painful blows forgetting Of fate that blindly o'er us rules, The wiles of frivolous maids, the petty And thoughtless jibes of prating fools. My mind, on wings of fancy soaring, To parts ethereal was borne, While all unknown there gathered o'er me The dark clouds of a mighty storm.... And I was lost.... But vou who always Watched o'er me in my earlier years, You, blessed friendship, giving solace To one whose heart deep sorrow sears!- You calmed the raging storm, and, heeding M\ spirit's call, brought peace to me; You saved me-saved my treasured freedom, Of fiery youth the deity! Far from the social whirl, the Neva Behind me left, forgotten even By rumour, here am I where loom Caucasian peaks in prideful gloom. Atop high steeps, mid downward tumbling Cascades and cataracts of stone, I stand and drink it all in dumbly, And revel, to reflection prone, In nature's dark and savage beauty; To wounding thought my soul's still wed, Within it sadness lives, deep-rooted, But the poetic fires are dead,

In vain I seek for inspiration: Gone is the blithe and happy time Of love, of merry dreams, of rhyme, Of all that filled me with elation. Sweet rapture's span has not been long, Flown from me has the Muse of song, Of softly spoken incantation....

An evil "troll" ("actually the devil himself")[1] makes a magic mirror that has the power to distort the appearance of things reflected in it. It fails to reflect all the good and beautiful aspects of people and things while it magnifies all the bad and ugly aspects so that they look even worse than they really are. The devil teaches a "devil school," and the devil and his pupils delight in taking the mirror throughout the world to distort everyone and everything. They enjoy how the mirror makes the loveliest landscapes look like "boiled spinach". They then want to carry the mirror into Heaven with the idea of making fools of the angels and God, but the higher they lift it, the more the mirror grins and shakes with delight. It shakes so much that it slips from their grasp and falls back to earth where it shatters into billions of pieces — some no larger than a grain of sand. These splinters are blown around and get into people's hearts and eyes, making their hearts frozen like blocks of ice and their eyes like the troll-mirror itself, only seeing the bad and ugly in people and things. Years later, a little boy, Kai, and a little girl, Gerda, live next door to each other in the garrets of buildings with adjoining roofs in a large city. One could get from Kai's to Gerda's home just by stepping over the gutters of each building. The two families grow vegetables and roses in window boxes placed on the gutters. Kai and Gerda have a window-box garden to play in, and they become devoted to each other as playmates.

Kai's grandmother tells the children about the Snow Queen, who is ruler over the snowflakes, that look like bees — that is why they are called "snow bees". As bees have a queen, so do the snow bees, and she is seen where the snowflakes cluster the most. Looking out of his frosted window, Kai, one winter, sees the Snow Queen, who beckons him to come with her. Kai draws back in fear from the window. By the following spring, Gerda has learned a song that she sings to Kai: Where the roses deck the flowery vale, there, infant Jesus thee we hail! Because roses adorn the window box garden, Gerda is always reminded of her love for Kai by the sight of roses. It was on a pleasant summer's day that splinters of the troll-mirror get into Kai's heart and eyes while he and Gerda are looking at a picture book in their window-box garden. Kai's personality changes: he becomes cruel and aggressive. He destroys their window-box garden, he makes fun of his grandmother, and he no longer cares about Gerda, since all of them now appear bad and ugly to him. The only beautiful and perfect things to him now are the tiny snowflakes that he sees through a magnifying glass.

The following winter he goes out with his sled to the market square and hitches it—as was the custom of those playing in the snowy square—to a curious white sleigh carriage, driven by the Snow Queen, who appears as a woman in a white fur-coat. Outside the city she shows herself to Kai and takes him into her sleigh. She kisses him only twice: once to numb him from the cold, and the second time to cause him to forget about Gerda and his family. She does not kiss him a third time as that would kill him. Kai is then taken to the Snow Queen's palace on Spitsbergen, near the North Pole where he is contented to live due to the splinters of the troll-mirror in his heart and eyes. The people of the city, once they realize Kai is nowhere to be seen or found, get the idea that Kai drowned in the river nearby, but Gerda, who is heartbroken at Kai's disappearance, goes out to look for him. She questions everyone and everything about Kai's whereabouts. Gerda offers her new red shoes to the river in exchange for Kai; by not taking the gift at first, the river seems to let her know that Kai did not actually drown after all. Gerda next visits an old sorceress, who wants Gerda to stay with her forever. She causes Gerda to forget all about her friend and, knowing that the sight of roses will remind Gerda of Kai, the sorceress causes all the roses in her garden to sink beneath the earth. At the home of the old sorceress, a rosebush raised from below the ground by Gerda's warm tears tells her that Kai is not among the dead, all of whom it could see while it was under the earth. Gerda flees from the old woman's beautiful garden of eternal summer and meets a crow, who tells her that Kai was in the princess's palace. She subsequently goes to the palace and meets the princess and her prince, who appears very similar to Kai. Gerda tells them her story and they help by providing warm clothes and a beautiful coach. While traveling in the coach Gerda is captured by robbers and brought to their castle, where she is befriended by a little robber girl, whose pet doves tell her that they had seen Kai when he was carried away by the Snow Queen in the direction of Lapland. The captive reindeer Bae tells her that he knows how to get to Lapland since it is his home. The robber girl, then, frees Gerda and the reindeer to travel north to the Snow Queen's palace. They make two stops: first at the Lapp woman's home and then at the Finn woman's home. The Finn woman tells the reindeer that the secret of Gerda's unique power to save Kai is in her sweet and innocent child's heart: "I can give her no greater power than she has already," said the woman; "don't you see how strong that is? How men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world, barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from me greater than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence of heart. If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, and remove the glass fragments from little Kai, we can do nothing to help her.." When Gerda gets to the Snow Queen's palace, she is first halted by the snowflakes which guard it. The only thing that overcomes them is Gerda's praying the Lord's Prayer, which causes her breath to take the shape of angels, who resist the snowflakes and allow Gerda to enter the palace. Gerda finds Kai alone and almost immobile on the frozen lake, which the Snow Queen calls the "Mirror of Reason" on which her throne sits. Gerda finds Kai engaged in the task that the Snow Queen gave him: he must use pieces of ice as components of a Chinese puzzle to form characters and words. If he is able to form the word "eternity" (Danish: Evigheden) the Snow Queen will release him from her power and give him a pair of skates. Gerda finds him, runs up to him, and weeps warm tears on him, which melt his heart, burning away the troll-mirror splinter in it. Kai bursts into tears, dislodging the splinter from his eye. Gerda kisses Kai a few times, and he becomes cheerful and healthy again, with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks: he is saved by the power of Gerda's love. He and Gerda dance around on the lake of ice so joyously that the splinters of ice Kai has been playing with are caught up into the dance. When the splinters tire of dancing they fall down to spell the very word Kai was trying to spell, "eternity." Even if the Snow Queen were to return, she would be obliged to free Kai. Kai and Gerda then leave the Snow Queen's domain with the help of the reindeer, the Finn woman, and the Lapp woman. They meet the robber girl after they have crossed the line of vegetation, and from there they walk back to their home, "the big city." They find that all is the same at home, but they have changed! They are now grown up, and they are delighted to see that it is summertime. At the end, the grandmother reads a passage from the Bible: "Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 18:3).

Once upon a time there lived a wealthy merchant, who had three beautiful daughters. Once he decided to do business overseas. He called for the daughters and asked what gifts should he bring them. The elder asked for the golden crown with precious gems that could produce light and the second wanted a dressing table with a mirror which added to the person's beauty. The merchant knew these would be difficult to obtain, but within his means. The younger, named Nastenka (a diminutive form of the given nameAnastasia), asked for the most beautiful scarlet flower in the world. The merchant did not know where he could find such a flower, but promised not to disappoint. Everything went well. The merchant bought all gifts, except for the scarlet flower. He saw many scarlet flowers, but not the most beautiful one. On the way home he was attacked by robbers, fled into the woods and became lost. When he awoke the next morning he saw a splendid palace "in flame, silver and gold". He walked inside, marveling at the splendor, but the palace was seemingly empty. Spread before him was a luxurious feast, and he sat down and ate. When he walked out to the garden he saw the most beautiful scarlet flower, and knew it was the one his daughter desired. Upon picking it, the terrible Beast of the Forest leapt out and confronted the merchant, asking him why he dared pick the scarlet flower, the one joy of the beast's life. The beast demanded that the merchant repay him and forfeit his life. The merchant begged for mercy and to be returned to his daughters. The beast allowed this on the one condition that within the next three days one of his daughters would willingly take her father's place and live with the beast, or the merchant's life would be forfeit. The beast gave the merchant a ring, and the girl that put it on the littlest finger of her right hand would be transported to the palace. Then the beast magically transported the merchant home, with all his wealth and treasures restored.

The merchant explained what happened to his three daughters. The eldest two believed the youngest should go, since it was her present that caused this disaster. The youngest daughter loved her father so, so she willingly went to live with the beast. Nastenka lived with the beast, who granted her every desire for food and clothing, yet never revealed himself to her for fear of upsetting her. However Nastenka became fond of the beast and asked to see him. When he finally revealed himself to her, she was overcome with fear but controlled herself, and apologized to the beast for upsetting him. When Nastenka had a dream that her father was ill, the Beast let her visit him. However, he said that she must come back in three days, otherwise he would perish, since his love for her was so great he loved her more than himself, and could not bear to be apart from her. Nastenka's visit to her father revived his spirits, but her sisters grew jealous of the wealth she lived in. They tried to talk her out of returning to the Beast, but Nastenka could not be so cruel to her kind host. The elder sisters put the clocks back and closed the windows, to trick Nastenka. When Nastenka felt that something had been wrong and came back to the Monster's palace, he lay dying near the scarlet flower. Nastenka rushed to his side, took him in her arms, and cried that she loved him more than herself, that he was her true love. All of a sudden thunder boomed, and Nastenka was transported to a golden throne next to a handsome prince. The handsome prince explained that he was the Beast, cursed by a witch who was fighting his father, a mighty king. To break the curse, a maiden had to fall in love with him in his monstrous form. The merchant gave his blessing to the young couple, who lived happily ever after.

One day the old man said to the old woman: “Grandmother, go scrape in the flour-tin and sweep in the corn bin, perhaps you will get enough flour to make a Ginger Bread(Kolobok).”The old woman went off and scraped round the flour-tin and swept the bottom of the corn-bin and she got a couple of handfuls of flour.She mixed the floor with sour cream and shaped it into a Ginger Bread(kolobok) – a kind of little round bun. Then she baked it in the oven and left it on the windowsill to cool.The Ginger Bread lay there for a good while then suddenly it got up and rolled. It rolled from the sill to the bench, from the bench to the floor, across the floor to the door. It hopped over the threshold and into the hall. From the hall it rolled onto the porch, from the porch into the garden and from the garden out through the gate. Further and further it went…

The Ginger Bread rolled down the road until it met a Rabbit.

“Ah, Kolobok, Kolobok, I’ll eat you now.”

Don’t eat me, Rabbit. I’ll sing you a song:

I’m Kolobok, Kolobok!

I was scraped up in the flour-tin,

Swept up from the corn-bin,

Mixed with sour cream into a bun

Baked in the oven till I was done,

Then left on the sill till I cooled some.

I ran away from Grandfather,

I ran away from Grandmother too,

And I’m sure I’ll have no trouble, Rabbit, running away from you.”

And off it rolled down the road, so fast that the Rabbit could only stare.

The Kolobok rolled down the road until it met a Wolf:

“Ah, Kolobok, Kolobok, I’ll eat you now.”

“Don’t eat me, Gray Wolf. I’ll sing you a song:

I’m Kolobok, Kolobok!

I was scraped up in the flour-tin,

Swept up from the corn-bin,

Mixed with sour cream into a bun

Baked in the oven till I was done,

Then left on the sill till I cooled some.

I ran away from Grandfather,

I ran away from Grandmother,

I ran away from the Rabbit too

And I’m sure I’ll have no trouble, Wolf, running away from you.”

And off it rolled down the road, so fast that the Wolf could only stare.

The Kolobok rolled down the road until it met a Bear:

“Ah, Kolobok, Kolobok, I’ll eat you now.”

“Don’t eat me, Bear. I’ll sing you a song:

I’m Kolobok, Kolobok!

I was scraped up in the flour-tin,

Swept up from the corn-bin,

Mixed with sour cream into a bun

Baked in the oven till I was done,

Then left on the sill till I cooled some.

I ran away from Grandfather,

I ran away from Grandmother,

I ran away from the Rabbit

I ran away from the Gray Wolf too

And I’m sure I’ll have no trouble, Bear, running away from you.”

Again it rolled off down the road, so fast that the Bear could only stare.

The Kolobok rolled down the road until it met a Fox:

“Kolobok, Kolobok, where are you going.”

“I’m just rolling along the road.”

“Kolobok, Kolobok, sing me your song.”

And the Kolobok began:

“I’m Kolobok, Kolobok!

I was scraped up in the flour-tin,

Swept up from the corn-bin,

Mixed with sour cream into a bun

Baked in the oven till I was done.

Then left on the sill till I cooled some.

I ran away from Grandfather,

I ran away from Grandmother.

I ran away from the Rabbit

I ran away from the Gray Wolf

I ran away from the big Bear too

And I’m sure I’ll have no trouble, Fox, running away from you.”

But the Fox said:“What a fine song. But, you know I am rather hard of hearing, Kolobok, be so kind as to sit on my nose and sing your song again, a little louder.”The Kolobok hopped onto the Fox’s nose and sang the song again a little louder.But the fox said:“Kolobok, be so kind as to sit on my tongue and sing your song just one more time.”The Kolobok hopped onto the Fox’s tongue and – snap! – The Fox gobbled it up.

Once upon a time a man and a woman lived with their daughter and small son."Dearest daughter," said the mother, "we are going to work. Look after your brother! Don't go out of the yard, be a good girl, and we'll buy you a handkerchief."The father and mother went off to work, and the daughter soon enough forgot what they had told her. She put her little brother on the grass under a window and ran into the yard, where she played and got completely carried away having fun. In swooped the swan-geese, snatched up the little boy, and flew away with him.When the girl came back inside, her brother was missing! "Oh no!" she cried. She dashed here and there, but there was no sign of him. She called for him, cried, and wailed how angry mother and father would be, but her brother did not answer. Then she ran out to the edge of the fields, and just managed to catch sight of the swan-geese rushing into the distance and disappearing into the forest. She suspected that they were taking her brother off with them. Swan-geese had long held a bad reputation for being naughty and carrying away little children.The girl rushed to catch up with them. She ran and ran, until she saw an oven."Little oven, little oven, tell me, where did the swan-geese fly to?""Eat up some of my rye buns, and I will tell you.""I'm not going to eat your rye buns! I don't even eat the wheat ones we have at home."The oven did not tell her. The girl ran further, until she came to an apple tree."Apple tree, apple tree, tell me, where did the swan-geese fly to?""Eat some of my wild apples, and I will tell you.""I'm not going to eat your wild apples! I don't even eat the apples from our garden at home."The apple tree did not tell her. So the girl ran further, until she came to a river of milk flowing in banks of pudding."River of milk, banks of pudding, where did the swan-geese fly to?""Eat up some of my humble pudding with milk, and I will tell you.""I'm not going to eat your simple pudding with milk! I don't even eat the pudding we have at home." For a long time she ran through clearings and through forest. The day drew toward evening, and there was nothing to do--she had to go home. But when she turned around, she suddenly saw a little cabin with one little window.In the cabin was the old witch Baba Yaga, spinning flax. And on a little bench sat her brother, playing with a silver apple.The girl ran into the cabin."Hello, old woman!""Hello, maiden. Why have you burst into my house like this?""I came through the forest and through the swamp, and my dress is torn to shreds. I would like to warm up a little here.""Sit over there and spin some flax."Baba Yaga gave her a spindle and left her alone. The girl was spinning away, when suddenly a mouse darted out from under the stove and said to her, "Maiden, maiden, give me a bit of porridge and I will tell you things you need to know."The girl gave her a bit of porridge, and the mouse told her, "Baba Yaga has gone to the bath house to stoke the fire. She is going to steam you, put you in the oven, roast you, eat you up, and then ride away on two of your bones."The girl sat in a state of shock, crying, but the mouse spoke to her again. "Don't wait! Pick up your brother, run, and I will spin the flax in your place."The girl snatched up her brother and set out running. After she was gone, Baba Yaga went up to the window and asked, "Maiden, are you spinning?""I'm spinning, old woman," answered the mouse.The old witch, satisfied, went back to the bath house. When she had gotten the fire hot enough, she went to get the girl. But in the cabin there was nobody. She cried, "Swan-geese! After them! The sister has stolen her brother and run away!"The girl, her brother in her arms, ran up to the river of milk. She saw that the swan-geese were flying after her."Mother river, hide me!""Eat up some of my simple pudding." The girl ate and thanked the river, and the river sheltered her under its banks of pudding.The swan-geese did not see her, and flew past.The girl set out running again, her brother in her arms. But the swan-geese came back, and flew in her direction, there--there! They saw them! What to do? Trouble! But there stood the apple tree."Mother apple tree, hide me!""Eat some of my wild apples."The girl quickly ate one and thanked the tree, and the tree hid her with its branches, sheltered her with its leaves.The swan-geese didn't see them, and flew past.The girl ran again. She ran and ran, until she was almost exhausted. The swan-geese saw her again, and began to cackle. They flew in on her, and beat their wings as if at any moment they would snatch her brother from her arms.The girl ran up to the oven:"Mother oven, hide me!""Eat some of my rye buns."The girl quickly popped a bun into her mouth and settled herself and her brother into the oven. The swan-geese flew and flew, called and called, but finally they gave up and flew away, back to the old woman.The girl thanked the oven and, together with her brother, ran all the way home.And just after they got there, their father and mother returned.

It is an ancient tradition to use beatifully decorated eggs to symbolize life and the promise of the future.Wooden hand-painted eggcould be a lovely present suitable for every case as a nice souvenir from Russia.

http://russiandolls-boutique.com/

Today,a Master Class from Studio"Larets"-Saint Petersburg,will show us how to paint an wooden egg,a really art.